From: AUTHOR22@aol.com
Subject: My Teenage Heart
Date: 9 Mar 1996
My Teenage Heart is a full length novel, describing the develop-
ment of a young boy into a bi-sexual man of 70. It traces his
evolvement from a rejected child, thorough adolescence and as a
16 year old run-a-way, his maturing as a Marine during world war
2, continuing thorough his development as a musician, and eventu-
ally closing as an itinerate country western performer at age 70.
For readers who find graphic sexual descriptions not to their
liking, they should read no further. The same restriction apply
to those under the age of 18, or those who find sex between
males, or sex between females, or sexual development between
children as offensive.
For the rest of the world I invite you to partake of this adven-
ture as it leads from the 1930's into the 1990's, as it traces
the development of a young boy's sexual development thorough
adolescence, young adult, middle age, and old age. As he evolves
from a rejected child to a teenage hustler, to a United States
Marine, to a successful Country Western Musician, viewing him at
the peak of his career, experiencing his slide from the crest;
his evolution to age 70.
---------------------------------------------------------------
My Teenage Heart
Preface
At 70 Looking Back
Next month I will be 70. As I sit alone here in this country trailer park
reflecting back on my life, I realize that I wouldn't change a thing.
Just yesterday, my latest young man decided that the grass was greener on
the other side of the highway and donned his backpack to take off for
Michigan.
We had been traveling for almost a month, playing gigs where we could find
them. He had a good sense of rhythm and could pound almost anything to make
magnificent sounds. Also he LOOKed like a drummer. However before I met
him, the only thing he beat was hanging between his legs.
I had made only one mistake; I decided that we should see what was happening
in Branson, Missouri. While it is true that employment is 100 percent in
Branson, that is only true if you are not a musician. Branson is kind of an
old people's home for "has-been entertainers"; the competition is stiff.
Doug and I had met up in a trailer park in Las Vegas. I was between jobs
and spent a lot of evening hours picking at my guitar, half-heartedly
composing. Rap seemed to be the rage amongst youngsters, and I thought it
would be interesting to try mixing country-western with rap.
Many kids have told me over the years that `I have the heart of a teenager'
or `I am cool' or `you sure don't seem to be 69'.
As I was trying to create the beat with my foot while strumming the guitar,
this young fella (must a been about 16) standing next to me took up the rhythm
as I improvised on the strings. He picked up the pace and kind of took over
the beat, leaving me free to concentrate on melody.
Doug was tall, lanky, with brown curly hair at shoulder length. I would guess
him to be about 130 lbs, 6 foot tall, and cute as can be. His smile was
overpowering.
He was just passing through Vegas. His folks had a drinking problem and
didn't have the patience for raising a teenager, letting him do as he pleased;
he pleased to leave.
It was summer; the Vegas heat was beginning to lessen, and I suggested he
join me for dinner at Sam's Town Buffet. During dinner we got to know one
another, and it was decided that Doug would try traveling with me.
When you get to be my age and you are not a headliner, you travel and find
gigs where you can. I had a small income plus social security so I could
pursue this lifestyle which included a small (22 foot) motor home, vintage
1975.
I had heard there was an RV park just outside of Tulsa that provided
entertainment; my immediate destination was Oklahoma, via Needles California.
The living arrangements were simple: I did the cooking; we shared the driving;
being only one bunk, we shared it.
After dinner, Doug stowed his backpack in the RV, we showered and went to
bed. As he climbed into bed, he slipped off his underwear, hopping into bed
stark naked. I asked him if he always slept in the nude. He said no, but
since I did, he would.
And so the adventure began.
Chapter One
The Early Urges
I was born in October of 1925. My mother was emotionally a cold person,
while my father was deeply emotional, loving, and passionate. Their life
together was short, as my mother had neither the inclination or disposition
to make a happy family with someone as different as he.
They separated, divorced, and remarried. This happened when I was 4. I lived
with my mother and her new husband.
I developed into an odd child. While I had a high degree of intelligence
and creativity, I had no talent for understanding, or learning from the
behavior of my peers.
Mother choose to work, allowing me to grow with little guidance or counseling.
I found it easier to withdraw into myself than to develop the social skills
necessary to get along with others.
Most of my free time was spent listening to radio shows or experimenting
with chemistry. I tried making gun powder, Bakelite, and nitroglycerine,
but settled on photography as a fun way to spend my time.
It was in those early years that I developed my taste for country and western
music, spending hours with my ears glued to the radio listening to the Grand
Ole Opree.
My mother's mother lived close to the beach, some 30 miles away. Some of my
earliest and fondest memories come from weeks spent with her. Granddad worked
nights, and she would sleep with me, cuddling me into her arms, holding,
comforting, and loving me -- demonstrations of love that I never received
from my mother.
My grandmother's house was on two acres of land. They had a cow, a garden,
a separate building for canning fruits and vegetables, and rabbits. They also
had a next door neighbor with a son a year or two older than I.
Jeff attended military school, played guitar, and was extremely handsome.
He was probably about nine, and he smoked "corn silk". I don't really remember
exactly how it happened, but I will never forget the day we were wandering
around in the corn field and we got naked; he laid on top of me with his
little dick sliding between my butt cheeks.
Home was a little rural town located within the property of an oil production
company. The house was single wall construction, provided by the company my
stepfather worked for.
There were about 15 families living there. Almost all of the children were
boys about my age. They loved baseball; I hated it. They loved basketball;
I hated it. They loved football; I hated it. They loved to play with each
other's dicks; I loved it.
The boy next door was the leader of the neighborhood boys. Sometimes all of
them would disappear. I noticed this several times, and then followed them.
They walked about a half mile back into the hills then jumped over a chain
link fence, disappearing into a large, empty water tank. The tank must have
been 10 feet in diameter and about 5 feet high. It was covered but had an
open hole about two foot square. Along side of the tank was a tall shade
tree. The boys used the tree to get to the top of the tank.
My curiosity got the better of me. I climbed the fence and quietly approached
the side of the tank. I could hear them talking.
"Mine is bigger than yours."
"Keep at it, I think you are getting there."
"Don't get it on me."
I was mystified. My attention was so drawn to what was happening in the tank
that I didn't hear Bob Schubert come up behind me.
"What are you doing here", he yelled. He was the town bully, and he delighted
in making my life miserable. He pushed me down on the ground.
The other boys, hearing the commotion, came out of the tank. One suggested
they take my clothes off and then chase me home naked. And that's what they
started to do. Eugene held my arms while Bob yanked off my pants and shorts.
There I laid, naked from the waist down. As I began to cry, I also began to
get an erection. As it grew stiffer the boys became quieter.
"Do you think he can come?"
"I don't know."
"Let's find out."
Whereupon they began to massage my small penis. Up and down; up and down.
They took turns. My crying stopped as that deep feeling towards ejaculation
started. "Look, I think he's going to."
My body stiffened; my little cock throbbed, and it felt like the world
exploded. I looked down and saw a tiny bit of white liquid on my stomach.
The boys got bored, and left. I dressed and walked home alone.
After school the next day, Bob walked next to me. We were alone, and he was
being nice. Being nice meant he wasn't bullying me. He suggested that we hike
up into the hills. It had been a long time since anyone was nice to me and
it felt good.
We walked up a road passing an oil well. The well had a tall wooden tower
used to pull pump rods and maintain the well. I liked to climb and ran to
the tower, jumping on the ladder climbing to the very top. Bob started up
the ladder, but then changed his mind and yelled for me to come back down.
The well also had a small building which enclosed the engine that ran the
pump. Bob had gone into the room; I followed him. It was dark. He said, "Come
sit over here".
My eyes adjusted to the dim light as I joined him. We sat on a rough wooden
bench. "Hey, I didn't know you could come."
At that he reached over and grabbed my cock. "Here, you play with mine".
After a few moments of groping we dropped our pants and shorts, jacking each
other off.
When we were done, Bob pulled up his pants and left.
As I was walking home alone, I felt happy. He liked me. He treated me as
though he liked being with me.
At school the next day Bob was his old self, mean, and nasty. Things had
not changed. I was rejected; I was dejected.
A few days later, Bob again joined me, was nice to me, and we walked back to
"our" oil well and jacked off.
This scene was repeated many, many times. But in front of the other kids he
was always the bully.
Then one afternoon at the oil well, Bob said "Close your eyes, tell me how
this feels."
I did as I was told. Then I felt the most incredible sensation on my dick.
I looked down, and there was Bob sucking my cock. He then wanted me to suck
his. I refused. He threatened to beat me up if I didn't, so I did as I was
told.
This newer version of our "oil well" trips were again repeated many, many
times. Within a short time I developed a "taste" for sucking his dick; then
he ceased sucking on mine.
My Teenage Heart
Chapter Two
My Teenage Years
Our trips to the "oil well" continued into our high school years; Bob remained
the bully, while I withdrew more and more into myself.
At 15, my guitar was my only friend. My music my only solace. My cock my only
source of social acceptance.
The last class of the day was gym; I hated it and frequently cut it.
When I cut gym, I hitchhiked home. Home was about 4 miles away. I stood on
the road with my thumb out, hoping someone would come by before the school
bus.
It was a warm fall day. I stood in the sun, the wind very gentle, and I was
perspiring.
A blue sports car approached. The guy driving it was in his late twenties.
The car zoomed by, then stopped. I ran up and hopped in. The driver smiled
at me. I told him where I was going, and off we went.
The breeze from the car cooled my forehead, but my crotch was warm and sweaty,
so I moved my legs apart. The driver shifted, leaving his hand on the stick
shift. My knee was almost touching his hand. As he moved his hand back to
the wheel, his finger brushed my leg. I don't know if it was the warm sun on
my pants or his touching my leg, but I immediately got a hard-on. It had been
positioned alongside of my left leg, and when it got hard, it created a tent.
Trying to hide it, I put my hand over it, and that only made it worse.
The driver moved his hand; I thought he was going to shift, but instead he
rested it on my leg. I looked at him, and he smiled. He moved his hand under
mine, touching the base of my very stiff dick. This was great; I shifted my
leg more towards him; then he began squeezing the shaft while moving downward
to the head.
"I'm going up to the Springs. You want to come along?" He was referring to
a small resort hotel about six miles further than my home.
I really had no idea what he had in mind, I only knew that his hand on my
cock was great. "Can you bring me home by 6?"
Hal provided entertainment for the resort by showing movies. The projector
was in the trunk of the car. Every Friday he would take a movie to the Springs
for the weekend. The customers would tip him, and the management provided a
free cabin with meals.
The cabin was made of logs; it had a fireplace and a double bed. Before we
got out of the car, I adjusted my rod vertically, so the head was pointing
towards my belly button. By the time we got into the room, my cock had started
to soften. This was my first time with anyone but the neighborhood kids, and
this was certainly the first time that anyone had shown that they liked me.
Here I was in the hotel room of a total stranger. I had no experience or
information on what to expect; I just knew that being there felt good, and
that I was wanted.
Hal closed and locked the door, walked over to me, put his arms around me,
and kissed me firmly upon the lips. I felt an emotional shock run through my
body, as I realized this good looking guy, with the great car REALLY LIKED
me. I felt warm all over; I looked into his eyes, and if ever I felt love,
I felt it right then and there. He could have kidnapped me, raped me, even
killed me and I wouldn't have cared.
He unbuttoned my shirt and took it off. Then he loosened my belt, unsnapped
my cords, and undressed me. I was oblivious of my surroundings; I didn't even
realize I had a hard-on.
As he lowered my shorts, my dick sprung outward touching his lips. Opening
them, he blew hot air and then licked my head; I was in heaven.
In the next two hours, Hal had me in every way he could think of. He sucked
my cock but wouldn't let me cum. He licked my butt, but not until we had
showered together. He fondled by balls and finger fucked my butt. Eventually
he lubricated my ass and gently fucked me. Only after he was done did he
bring about my climax by sucking me dry.
He had me home by 6, but we had agreed to get together Saturday Night. He
would pick me up at 4.
That night, I told my mother that I had met a new friend at school (almost
the truth) and that I was going to spend the weekend with him. His family
would pick me up Saturday night, and I would be back home Sunday Night.
My folks had gone into Los Angeles for the day, and wouldn't be home til
late, and by then I would be gone. The day seemed to drag by. I withdrew into
my guitar, and began to compose a song, a song about and for him.
As I waited along the highway
you came into my life,
your smile and love was all I needed,
you took me home wanting me,
I needed to find a word that would rhyme with life.
I worked on the tune and got it pretty nice, but the lyrics were another
problem.
Hal showed up at 3:30. "Mind if I bring along my guitar?" I asked.
That night was a night I shall always remember. We set up the projector and
screen under the trees. Many of the patrons were repeat customers and knew
Hal. He introduced me as his cousin.
It was twilight, still a little early for the movie. People were beginning
to gather. I got my guitar and began to strum the tune I had composed for
Hal. People began to listen and to hum. I looked at Hal and he gave me a
smile that said "very good".
I only knew about a dozen tunes, so it was shortly a matter of repeating them
or stopping. But by then it had gotten dark and Hal started the movie.
After the movie, I put away the screen and projector while Hal counted out the
tip money.
It was about 10 when I came into the room. Hal was already there and, as I
entered, he said, "So how come you have your clothes on?"
I stripped, standing there stark naked, tall, thin, light brown hair, blue
eyes, 120 lbs, 26 inch waist, and a huge erection. I grabbed my guitar and
held it in front of my cock and began to strum the tune I had composed that
afternoon. I started the lyric, got into the third line and stopped. "I wrote
that for you this afternoon, but couldn't finish it before you picked me up".
He grinned at me and said "Did you try `wife' in that third line?"
We got into bed, he on his back and me on my side with my head on his shoulder.
He brought his arm around my shoulders, drawing me close. My heart pounded
from the affection I was receiving. My dick pounded from his radiating warmth.
He rolled over facing me, his arms still around me, my eyes looking into his.
He gently kissed me. Then with a bit more passion. Then his tongue entered
my mouth and we were sucking tongues. My cock was throbbing against his belly,
as was his against mine. He reached down and adjusted both of our cocks so
they were end to end and began stroking them both as though they were one.
"Turn around and get on top of me, so you can see my dick while I am sucking
yours". I kneeled in a 69 position, my balls dangling over his nose. I looked
down at his equipment; hard, cut, red, pre-cum oozing from the tip.
He took me into his mouth, with his hands upon my butt cheeks, pulling me
down until the head of my cock was at the back of his mouth. I could feel
the hot air rushing from his throat as he breathed out. My dick throbbed,
and began to drool. He put more pressure on my butt, pushing my dick harder
into him. Then suddenly, he shifted his head slightly, gulped, and my cock
plunged all the way down into his throat. Then, as it rested within that
tube, he swallowed several times, and I exploded. It felt like I unloaded at
least a gallon of cum.
"What about you?" I questioned, and he said, we'll sleep now, maybe later.
I rolled over, away from him; he cuddled up with his arms around me. I slept
safe, secure, and loved.
We were still in that position when daylight sifted through the curtains,
awakening me. I didn't know if Hal was awake; but his dick certainly was.
It felt huge as the warm head rested between the cheeks of my ass. I moved
my butt so that the head was right against my anus.
I could feel the moisture of his pre-cum ooze on to my ass hole. His breathing
was still shallow as though he was asleep. I positioned his dick more in line
with my butt and pushed ever so gently. Still no movement from him.
I rested and the head began to slide into me. I put on a little more pressure
and it went in a little further. Again I rested and luxuriated in the feeling
of being securely in his arms. Everything was right with the world.
I could feel his dick get more erect, and, in doing so, entering me further
without he or I pushing. Again I luxuriated in the feeling. Then I sensed
that he was waking up. I could feel the smile on his face as he kissed the
back of my neck and then gently began that dance of love. It was so natural;
it was so wanted; it was so complete. Hal reached his climax within a few
minutes, then rolled me over and told me how much he loved me.
We spent most of Sunday talking and loving (and occasionally making love).
The Springs had private hot tub baths which we shared, sitting there for most
of an hour. Then Hal gave me my first back massage.
Within three days I had gone from a lonely nerdy kid who nobody liked to a
healthy adolescent with a real lover who genuinely cared about me.
Monday came; the old routine returned; and I was back in my shell.
All day Friday I began to think about Hal. I wondered if I might see him
again if I was out on the road. I cut gym. He didn't come by. The school
bus came, and I went home.
I was miserable. I had experienced both the heaven of last weekend and the
hell of the school week.
Saturday morning I was sitting on the front porch playing with my guitar,
feeling dejected and lonely. Then I saw a blue sports car coming down the
road. My heart leapt as I jumped off of the porch and raced to the front
gate. Hal was in the front seat and he didn't stop. I wanted to kill myself.
I threw myself on the lawn sobbing my heart out. Hal didn't want me. Nobody
wanted me. Life was hell.
Half an hour later, the blue car returned and stopped at my front gate. Hal
yelled, "Got time for a malt?". I leapt over the gate and into his car. The
world had suddenly become worthwhile.
My eyes were red from crying, and of course he noticed them. He kept quiet
for a while then asked why. I explained, and pain moved across his face.
The weekend tips were not enough to keep him going. He had accepted a job
in New York and was leaving tonight. Again I burst into tears. I explained
that being with him was the only part of my life that I had ever enjoyed.
That compared with last weekend life was totally hell. After the malt, we
found a secluded hillside, and loved one another 'til it was time for him to
leave.
I told him I would run away and go with him. Nobody would care. He smiled,
said he couldn't take me, but he would be back over Christmas and that was
just two months away.
In the end he left; I waited for Christmas; Hal never returned; and having
tasted heaven, I hated hell.
Long before summer arrived, I knew I was going to New York to find Hal.
My mother gave me 25 cents a week allowance. I saved every penny of it. I
had a piggy bank that I had put money in for as long as I could remember; I
opened it. I sold my bike and told my mother it disappeared. All together I
had $45.00 and I was going to hitchhike to New York.
I had turned 16 in October; I had $45 in my pocket; I had someone who loved
me in New York; and New York was where I was going.
Mothers never realize that their sons can leave home until they do. I left
a note saying that I was leaving, and that I would write. I took nothing with
me but the clothes I was wearing and my $45.00.
I had stolen a road map from my stepdad's car and decided that Route 66 would
be the best way to go.
Since mother worked Monday through Friday, I figured Monday would be the best
day to start my adventure.
She left the house by 6:00 AM, and by 6:15 I was on my way. A car heading up
towards the Springs stopped and gave me a lift all the way into Corona.
By noon I was standing on the side of US Highway 66, next to a truck stop.
At 3:00 I was still standing there. I needed to do something. I noticed a
truck and trailer parked at the restaurant.
Approaching the truck, I could see there was no driver, that there was a lot
of space for me to hide between the truck and trailer, and if I did so, the
driver wouldn't even know he had a passenger.
About 15 minutes later, the driver got underway. As we headed up the mountain
I began to get cold. The truck vibrated and jerked. Several times I lost my
hold, almost falling between the truck and trailer. Holding on for dear
life, the adrenaline pumped into my system giving more strength and stamina
than I realized I had.
A car started to pass the truck. The passenger saw me, told the driver, who
realized just how great of a danger I was in. They pulled up opposite the
truck driver, blew their horn, and signaled the truck to pull over.
They told the driver he had a passenger between the truck and trailer, and
that they would take him. The truck driver paled, started to get out of the
truck, but by then I had jumped from the truck, into their back seat, and we
took off.
The passenger was a boy about my age; maybe a year or two older. I figured
the driver was his dad. They were heading for Chicago and offered to let me
ride with them.
The sun had set as we drove east. I hadn't eaten since Sunday Night but the
adrenalin had kept me from being hungry. Now, as I calmed down, I was ravenous.
Jerry (the driver) and Jack began to talk about stopping to eat. My hunger
increased, and I began to worry about money.
I had planned on buying food in a grocery, not eating in restaurants. If I
ate with them, my $45.00 wouldn't last very long. So when they spotted a
restaurant, I pretended I wasn't hungry. They didn't push the point, but when
they came back they brought me a hamburger, french fries, and a much
appreciated bottle of milk. I devoured the food and thanked them profusely.
When I told them about my $45.00, they were shocked.
That night they stayed in a motel, and I insisted on sleeping in the car. We
were still at a high altitude, and it was cold. It must have been about one
in the morning, I was curled in a ball trying to stay warm when I heard Jack
open the back door. "You gotta come inside, Jerry doesn't want you sleepin'
in the car; cops might cause us trouble."
The room was small with just one double bed. Jerry was wide awake, sitting
up in the bed. I was shaking from the cold. He told me to go take a hot
shower, and then I could sleep between him and Jack. That way, I would stay
warm, and everyone would be happy.
The hot water felt great. Jack came into the bath room, handed me my shorts,
and suggested I wash them while I was showering; they would probably be dry
by the time we took off in the morning. I put them on while I was in the
shower and rubbed them down with soap. After rinsing them (and me), I hung
them on a towel rack, heading for the bed totally nude. Realizing what I was
doing, I went back to the shower, grabbed a dry towel, wrapped it around me
and padded back to the bed.
Jack jumped out and motioned me in. Jack was naked, and so was Jerry. As
I climbed into bed, Jack jerked my towel off, throwing it onto a chair. This
was certainly a turn of events. I began to realize that Jerry was not Jack's
dad.
I was sleeping on my stomach. I felt a hand on my butt; it didn't do anything,
it was just there. Then I felt a second hand on my butt. Soon, I felt the
two hands in a gentle holding. I moved on to my side facing Jerry, allowing
them to be closer together. They both were aroused.
I could feel their hot cocks touching my body, not aggressively, but just
touching. My dick began to get hard, so I turned over on my back, and as I
did so, it brushed someone's hand. I heard a chuckle and then felt both of
their hands on my very hot cock. A hand cupped my balls; a warm tongue licked
the head of my cock. I felt a cock touching my forehead. Suddenly, I found my
dick being sucked and a cock in my mouth. Even though I was tired, I needed
what was going on.
Almost a year had gone by since I had been truly loved, and I was loaded for
bear. Suddenly two mouths were full of cum, and only one of them was mine.
The aftermath was total cuddling as we three fell asleep in each other's arms.
By seven o'clock, we were on the road again. Jerry and Jack brought me into
their conversation, into their relationship.
Jerry said he was very uncomfortable about my only having $45.00 and handed
me a $100 bill. I just stared at it. I had never seen a $100 bill.
Jack laughed and said that if I played my cards right, I'd have a lot more
than that by the time we got to Chicago.
I was astounded. What did he mean by "if I played my cards right"? Why would
anyone throw around that much money?
Reflecting back, that was really when I became a hustler. I had provided sex
and had received money in gratitude.
We were on the road for three days (nights), and by the time we got to Chicago
I had been well fed, well looked after, and possessed $345.00.
Things were looking up. I had $345 in my pocket, and I could afford to take
a bus to New York.
They dropped me at the Greyhound station and took off. The ticket cost $44.00;
I still had $301.00 for my trip, to find my lover, to continue this adventure.
A lot of people like New York, but no one has ever told me it is a nice place;
for a 16 year old from a small rural town, it is a particularly unfriendly
place.
I had come to New York to find my lover; I had no idea where to start looking.
I had no idea where I might live. I had no idea what to do when I stepped
off of that Bus.
While at a bus stop, I had heard a couple of guys talk about staying at the
Sloan House.
New York is huge. Thousands of people are on the streets. Because it is so
crowded, everyone is rude in order to maintain some level of privacy. People
don't know their neighbors. And certainly young boys don't ask strangers
where the Sloan House is, especially if they are on the corner of Broadway
and 42nd street.
I had asked two different people and had gotten a total brush off. Then a
young black kid came up to me and said "Hey man that's no way to hustle in
New York".
I asked him about the Sloan House and he broke up with laughter. "If that's
what you're lookin' for, you walk down Broadway to you hit 32nd, turn right,
and in a few blocks you're there. Ain't gonna get no action there though."
And again continued to laugh. I thanked him and followed his instructions.
From the outside, the Sloan House looks like what it is: a cold, forbidding,
unfriendly place. It is a YMCA; it is a hotel; it keeps its guests under
constant surveillance. It is also inexpensive and has a lot of guests (and
a laundromat). I inquired, paid $28.00, got a half a room for a week, and
moved in.
Moving in meant that I that I had a place to hang the jacket that Jack had
given me, and a place to put the toothbrush Jerry had contributed.
The room had two beds (the other for some other guy yet to check in), a small
sink, and a window whose view was a brick wall about 3 feet away.
I took off my clothes and realized I was grungy. I put my shorts back on,
wrapped a towel around me, and headed down the hall to the showers.
I washed my shorts and myself as I had done that first night with Jerry and
Jack.
On returning to the room, I hung my shorts on the towel rack, and laid down
on top of the bed with just the towel around me.
My sleep was one from exhaustion. Sleep was scarce when traveling with Jerry
and Jack. The bus wasn't exactly a relaxing place. And experiencing New York,
even for the short time that I had, had drained me.
It was after dark when the sound of a key in the door woke me. I must have
been dreaming of Hal as I had a huge erection. The light came on. Standing
in the doorway was a young fellow of about 17. He had a short brush hair cut.
He was staring at me with a big grin on his face.
"Hey, sorry man, didn't mean to interrupt".
At first what he said didn't make any sense 'til I looked down and saw my
giant rod sticking up right through the towel.
"No, you didn't interrupt any thing; I was just snoozing"
"Must have been some hot dream".
At that point John introduced himself. He was indeed 17, was from New Jersey,
was in New York for a week, and had been assigned to the other bed in "our"
room.
He picked up my dirty clothes from his bed and said "Man oh man do these need
washing".
I explained those were the only clothes I had. He offered to put them in the
laundromat while he was showering.
Even though I had just taken a shower before falling asleep, I felt hot and
sweaty and decided to join John in the shower.
The shower room was a giant room with multiple shower heads, which could
accommodate six guys at one time. As we got into the shower, the lights went
out. It startled me, and John explained 10 PM was lights out, and all of the
residents were to go to bed as soon as possible.
While I could just barely see John through the dim light coming down from a
sky light, I could hear him soaping up. The warm water felt good on my back.
He asked me if I'd wash his back.
I lathered up my hands, starting on his neck and then shoulders. His body
was slim, his skin smooth and warm. I reached the small of his back washing
around to the hip bone on each side. As I worked in this area, he seemed to
be pressing back toward me.
My hand then moved down to his left butt cheek. The cheek moved, just the
cheek my hand was washing. I switched cheeks, rubbing gently with soap.
Now that cheek moved. John was playing games with me; I moved my finger
between and into his crack, then he moved both cheeks, definitely moving onto
my finger. He turned and said, "I've seen yours, want to see mine?"
We fondled each other for a while, but John warned me about the snooping
staff, and also reminded me that he had to do "our" Laundry.
I must have slept very soundly, as I didn't hear John come to bed. "Hey
sleepy head, get up and I'll buy you breakfast."
It was a friendly sound, it was also 8AM. John had taken a liking to me. We
hadn't done anything more than the fondling in the shower, yet he was offering
me breakfast.
Breakfast was a bowl of cereal, a donut, and a cup of coffee at the Automat.
He was proving to be a good friend. I wondered how far he was going with the
sex stuff, but either way it was nice. We talked about him and why he was
in New York. It seems he had an older "friend" who is a photographer and they
were to shoot some pictures out "on the island".
I asked him what kind of pictures, he said, "mostly nude". We also talked
about Hal and the reason for my being in New York.
After breakfast, John went to see his friend and I returned to the Sloan
House. It was only then that I began to understand the impossibility of my
finding Hal. I wasn't even sure how he spelled his last name. He hadn't told
me where he was going to work. I realized the only thing I knew about him
was that I loved him.
There was a game room on the second floor of the Sloan House where the
residents gathered for social activities; it also had a few writing desks
with paper and envelopes. I wrote to Mom telling her that I had arrived in
New York and that every thing was fine, that I was staying in a YMCA and
had met a friend about my own age, and that I was going to get a job with a
photographer.
It was then that I decided that that was indeed what I was going to do. My
$301 wasn't going to last long unless I did.
About 2 in the afternoon, John returned all excited. His friend wanted to
meet me and asked if I'd like to join them on the island tomorrow. I
explained that I had to find a job tomorrow, and John said that maybe his
friend would hire me.
With the enthusiasm and stupidity of a 16 year old, I agreed to join them.
John also said that I was a damned good looking stud and his friend would
pay me for modeling if he decided to use me.
That night John chose to sleep in my bed. We slept naked, cuddled, and fondled.
I expected it to go further but John said we should "save it" as we might
need it tomorrow.
We were to meet his friend Maurice (the photographer) at his studio on 52nd
at 9 AM.
At 8:15 we heard a key in our door, and John jumped out of bed. He was
naked, had an enormous hard-on, and was there to be seen as the maid walked
in. She took one look at John, saw the other bed had not been slept in, turned
away saying "excuse me, gentlemen", and closed the door behind her.
"Shit! We are going to get thrown out of here". I couldn't figure what was
going on, so I didn't think much of it. We were going to be late for our
appointment if we didn't get going. We deposited our keys at the desk, and
ran for a bus.
John was fretting about the incident with the maid all the way up to 52nd
street. I pointed out that we weren't doing anything, so what could they
do.
Maurice was an older man than I had envisioned. Late forties, short, balding,
and of good humor. He looked me over with an appraising eye. That look did
great things for my ego, making me want to look sexy and inviting. His smile
told me that I was succeeding. Maurice's assistant (a guy older than Maurice)
pulled up to the curb in a long black limo.
Maurice was obviously doing well.
The assistant was overweight and somewhat effeminate; his name was Fred, and
everyone called him "Fat Fred". According to John, Fred and Maurice had been
lovers for a very short time in their youth. Fred was always a gopher, and
Maurice kept him on in memory of their long faded love affair.
The shoot was going to take place at a lighthouse off of Montauk Point at
the end of Long Island, over 80 miles down the Island. The car picked up
speed as we hit the highway. Fat Fred certainly knew how to handle the car.
John, Maurice, and I were sitting in the back as I lapped up the interior
and comfort of the Limo.
I noticed Maurice reach over and pat John's upper leg. John smiled, put his
hand on Maurice's, and moved the hand onto his zipper, whereupon Maurice
slipped down on the floor between John's legs, unzipped his fly, pulled out
his cock, and started sucking on it.
My eyes were very wide as I viewed the action. John reached over and grabbed
my cock, rubbing it 'til it almost punched a hole in my pants. Maurice's
attention was riveted to Johns cock, and he was sucking like mad. John undid
my pants, pulled my cock free, and started jacking me.
The action of Maurice on John really had me turned on, and I thought I was
going to come all over my pants. John must have realized it too as he stopped
jacking me. Within seconds, John reached his climax. He yelled with pleasure,
holding Maurice hard on to his cock, screaming yes, yes, you are the world's
best fucking cocksucker.
John's outburst surprised me, but only made my cock harder and hornier. John
put his hand on Maurice's head and turned it so he could see my exposed boner.
Maurice immediately grabbed my dick and started sucking on it. He was good,
but I didn't think he was as good as Jack or Jerry, and certainly couldn't
match up to Hal. But he did suck with gusto.
John's ministrations had gotten me close, so Maurice's sucking was going to
finish it. I saw John making hand signals out of the corner of my eye. He
was mouthing that I should act like it was the world's best.
I did as I was told, started gyrating my hips, put my hands on his head and
really controlled what he was doing to me dick. At first my groaning was
play acting, but it soon developed into real shouts. All of that yelling
and all of that wild hand action on his head was having a wild effect on me.
When I did come, I really unloaded, gallons and gallons. My final yells and
screams were real and much louder than John's.
Maurice finished "breakfast", adjusted himself, and sat back in the limo with
a most pleasant "grandfatherly smile". After a moment of rest, he reached
into his coat pocket and handed John and me each a $100 bill. This was the
second time I had been paid for getting my dick sucked (or the fourth if you
counted the 3 times with Jerry and Jack as separate).
At the lighthouse, John pulled me aside and said, "Do whatever he wants and
we might just might earn enough to get us a really nice apartment for a
month". I thought about what so far had happened with John and figured I
couldn't go wrong, so I readily agreed.
The light was way out on a point. As we approached it, it looked austere and
authoritative. It looked like what it was, a proud structure for the salvation
of the men who needed its light. Tall and white, slim and dignified. John
and I ran up the spiral staircase like children eager to play. Behind us were
Maurice and Fat Fred bringing the photographic equipment.
As Maurice reached the top of the stairs, he turned to me and said "I don't
know what John has told you about what I do, but let me give it to you from
the horse's mouth, so to speak. The pictures are for my own private collection.
I pay my models $100 a day, plus tips for extra things that I think may go
beyond the call of duty. John, how much did you take home the last time we
were on location. You know, the weekend in the Bahamas?"
I blinked when John said, "About $2,300!" The Bahamas? $2,300. Wow! What a
life I had stumbled into.
The shooting session took almost three hours. It started off shooting men's
clothing fashion; but a little on the provocative side. White slacks, blue
jacket, distinct bulge in the crotch. Some with just John, some with just
me. Later it was John and I together. Next it was swim suits, individually
and then together.
My ego was soaring. I had never had this much attention paid to me, and I
loved it.
John was acting more like a big brother, suggesting to Maurice what might be
interesting. In asides to me he kept saying to follow his leads and we'll
make some real money today.
We were on an outside walk way near the top of the light. Maurice and Fat
Fred were reloading the cameras. We leaned against the railing, looking out
over the water; it was magnificent. John reached over and began to rub my
cock.
It surprisingly began to rise. Considering what I had unloaded into Maurice,
it was unexpected. Looking over at John I could see quite a tent building in
front. His eyes were bright and mischievous; his smile, warm, friendly, big
brotherish.
Fat Fred came outside, followed by Maurice. John and I turned around; Maurice
took one look at our boners, became very excited, began to rush around setting
up tripods, cameras, and reflectors.
In the next hour, we were posed doing everything to each other: sucking dick,
licking butt, deep kissing; you name it, we did it. All pictures and posing,
no real action.
We lost the light, packed up the gear, and got ready to leave. Just before
we got into the car, John whispered to me, "That last hour really got me
worked up. You take the lead; use your imagination, and let's see how much
we can earn on the way back."
This time, the seating arrangement was a little different. Maurice and I were
on the outsides, with John in the middle. Maurice had given us the clothes
we modeled in; we were still wearing them. We both had white slacks, gray
shirts, and sports jackets. My jacket was a deep blue, while Johns was a
brilliant red.
We had hardly closed the limo door when John began to signal me to get things
started.
He was quite startled when I reached over, put my arms around him and gave
him the biggest, deepest, passionate kiss that I had ever given anyone.
My hand which had started on the back of his neck, slid down, and pulled his
closer. Then I began to lie him down, 'til the back of his head was resting
in Maurice's lap, with my tongue exploring his mouth.
Deep, low animal sounds started coming from my chest, sounds of need, sounds
of lust. Again, the play-acting turned into reality. John got an enormous
hard-on. He lowered his hands and attempted to undo my pants, but by then I
was grinding my body into his, and, of course, all of this action was occurring
in Maurice's lap.
I came up for air. John unbuttoned my slacks. Maurice was unbuttoning John's.
Within 30 seconds, we were both naked. John and Maurice took turns sucking
my dick, then Maurice and I took turns sucking John's dick. John began fingering
my butt, then Maurice took over fingering my butt. Every time either of us
got close to climaxing we would switch.
John took his finger out of my butt, shifted me, and placed the head of his
dick against my anus. His pre-cum was literally dripping over my butt and
down to my balls.
My ass pushed back as his rod rushed into my hole. I growled, yelled, and
screamed. My pelvis ground and humped. Maurice was really losing it. When he
got on my dick, I really rammed it home, forcing my very turgid member down
his throat. I pumped, I howled, I ground, and I growled. As we crossed the
bridge into Manhattan, I unloaded; I could feel John cum deep within me at
the same time.
Fat Fred pulled up in front of the Sloan house. We had pretty much adjusted
our appearance. When we left the Sloan house I was wearing a tattered shirt
and my well worn cords. When we returned, we were attired in form-fitting
white slacks, expensive shirts, and spectacular sports coats. Each of us also
had $600 in our pockets.
There was a happy spring to my steps as we bade our benefactor goodbye,
turned, and went to the desk to pickup our room keys.
"Keys to 709 please". The clerk hardly looked at us, reached for 709, found
a note, and passed it to us. It read "Security has checked you out; pick up
your luggage in the office."
There wasn't much to pick up. John had a few things, and I had a toothbrush.
It was well past 10 PM. I was at a loss to figure out what to do. John said
it was the "fucking maid".
His big brother personality took over. "Fuck 'em, we've got $1200 in our
pockets we sure as hell can do better than the fucking YMCA."
We began walking towards Times Square. We came to the New Yorker and John
said, you sit here in the Lobby, I'm going to check us in here for the night.
A few minutes later he returned with a room key in his hand. That night we
again slept together, embraced in one an other's arms, far too tired to even
fondle.
In reality, I had more than $600. Combining it with the $301 from Jack and
Jerry, it totaled close to $1000.00 and I had been away from home for less
than a week. Three days on the road, two days at the Sloan House, one at the
New Yorker. Not bad for a 16 year old runaway.
We slept until almost noon. John called Maurice, telling him of our eviction.
He suggested that we check out a possible place to live over on the East
Side.
Leaving the New Yorker, we walked north on Broadway, then east on 35th. We
found the building Maurice had told us about. From the outside it sure wasn't
much. It was a run-down hotel. As we entered the lobby, I saw the black kid
who had directed me to the Sloan House. He handed the desk clerk a key. A
good looking sailor was leaving and trying to look like he wasn't with the
black kid.
As we passed the black kid he said, "See ya doin' better, my man," then
winked.
The living space we were to look at was a huge room located at the very top
of the building. The elevator was noisy and smelly. It creaked and lurched
all the way to the top floor. It was the only room on that floor. There was
less than six feet from the elevator door to the room door, and that six feet
was packed with every unwanted thing that a grungy hotel needed to stow. We
literally had to climb over boxes, broken chairs, suitcases, tables, and the
like.
At first the key wouldn't turn the lock; finally, with much coaxing it opened.
The total space was about 20 feet by 20 feet. It contained one very large
bed, a table with an empty paint can, and a chair. On the right and at the
end of the room was what appeared to be the bathroom.
Immediately to the left was a door that exited onto the roof. Using a lot of
pushing and shoving, that door opened; we walked out on to the roof. If you
used your imagination to ignore the condition of the room, and the raw
unimproved roof, you could see the kind of view that the movies give you from
New York penthouses.
"I think we ought to take it," John said. "It'll take a lot of work, but
it'll be worth it.
"How much will it cost us?"
"$250 each for the month. Another hundred to fix it up, and it'll really be
something".
Until then, I hadn't even thought about living in New York. John had never
told me anything about himself except that he we 17, from New Jersey, and
was in New York for a week. I had learned that he knew the city pretty well,
and had contacts. He had exhibited a lot of feelings for me. That in itself
was different and good. Even though we had had sex, it was more platonic and
like having a big brother.
Even though he was less than a year older than I, he was much more mature
and experienced. My feelings for Hal, combined with my need to find him,
added to the facts I was weighing. John put his arm around my waist, pulled
me to him in a big hug, and again asked, "What do you think?"
We worked all day and late into the night, cleaning and scrubbing. We borrowed
a vacuum from the hotel, lugged all the "stuff" from our hallway down to the
basement, used buckets and buckets of water, pounds of soap, and more elbow
grease than I realized there was in the world. I was wearing the clothes
that I had traveled in to New York.
At first it was the heat and stuffiness so we both removed our shirts; next
it was the dirt and we put away our pants. We switched to the swim suits
Maurice had given us. Looking back, I can imagine the impression we left on
the hotel staff: two teenagers dressed in tight fitting swim trunks, prominent
bulges in front, and perfectly formed asses, running up and down between
basement, lobby, elevator and the top floor.
One of the first things we had done was take the bed apart, pound it dust-free,
and prop up the springs and lumpy mattress against the wall out on the roof.
At one in the morning, we laid the mattress on top of the springs right where
they were and collapsed under the stars.
"How much of what happened in the car was real and how much was acting?" John
whispered as we lay next to each other.
"In the end it was all real."
"How do you mean that?" John chuckled.
I thought for a moment, turned, kissed him on the check, laughed and said,
"Both ways. I really enjoyed the feeling of you deep inside of me while
Maurice was blowing me."
"Well, I guess you learned, the more you put into it, the more you get out
of it."
"There you go again, double meanings?"
I think he was laughing as he said no, but I am not sure as I fell asleep.
The next day was just as messy, although it was paint on us rather than dirt
and dust. This we did totally naked.
Just after noon, we heard the elevator door open. We quickly put on our
trunks; we wondered who it could be. I opened our front door just as Fat Fred
started to knock. He and Maurice took a quick look around, commended us on
our work, and left.
Late that afternoon we again heard the elevator. Thinking it was Fat Fred
and Maurice returning, we didn't bother to put on our trunks. I opened the
door in the nude. Standing there in front of me were two large women in a
delivery service uniform they had part of a bed propped up against the wall.
They seemed as surprised as I was. After all, it isn't every delivery that
is answered by a good looking 16 year old standing there without a stitch
of clothing.
John had been standing on the chair, paintbrush in hand, trying to reach the
top of the wall. He started to turn, saw the women, dropped the paint brush,
tried to cover his crotch, and fell off of the chair. The women laughed,
and I howled.
Rather nonchalantly, I turned, walked over to our trunks, tossed John his,
and stepped into mine.
"Maurice thought you needed some furniture". They proceeded to bring in a
nice new triple bed, a couch, table, and several boxes of kitchen type things:
glasses, plates, hot plate, etc.
We had just finished putting the final splash of paint on the wall when there
was an another unexpected knock on the door. We had been playing with each
other, making so much noise that we hadn't heard the elevator stop at our
floor.
This time, we jumped into our trunks before answering the knock. Maurice
followed Fat Fred who was carrying a bottle of Champagne.
Fat Fred helped us move the furniture around and set up the bed while Maurice
relaxed in the comfort of one of our new chairs.
"You guys gave the girls quite a laugh, you know." That was one of the few
times I had heard Fred speak.
"Yeah, I know." It was funny to watch John squirm. "Thanks for the furniture.
You really didn't need to do that. But thanks again."
Among Maurice's many interests was a used furniture store down near the
village. The furniture was a loan for as long as we needed.
Fat Fred rummaged around in the boxes, found four champagne glasses, rinsed
them out, and proceeded to open the bottle. I had never seen Champagne, much
less tasted it. I jumped when I heard the cork pop. Fred served it. The
taste was a bit sour, with a lot of bite to it.
At first I didn't like it; however, I continued to sip at my glass. The
instant it was empty, Fat Fred refilled it. It was cold, and by the time I
was half way through the second glass my taste buds had changed and I began
to enjoy it.
Not only had my taste buds changed, but so had my head; I had a slight
dizziness and was feeling quite pleasant.
"You guys look hungry; let's go out to dinner. I made reservations at a great
Italian restaurant over on the west side. Get dressed and make it snappy".
Laughingly, we slowly removed our swimming trunks while wiggling our asses
at our guests. Just as slowly, and more provocatively, we dressed in our
white slacks, gray shirts and sports coats. Admiringly, I surveyed John
realizing that we were a couple of very good looking guys.
The Limo was parked in the passenger loading zone right in front of the hotel.
It took 20 minutes to get to Mario's. As we walked in, the Maitre D' rushed
to greet us, ushering us to a quiet secluded table.
John and I sat opposite of each other, as did Fred and Maurice. The menus
were so large that I couldn't see John. I had never been in a restaurant
like this; I was overwhelmed. Maurice seemed to sense my dilemma, suggesting
that he select our dinners. That decided upon left only the matter of the
wine (according to Maurice).
The wine was brought to the table in a cold, frosted, silver bucket on a
tripod placed between Maurice and myself. The waiter extracted the bottle,
displaying it to Maurice. "1928 was a fine year for Spumonti".
Maurice nodded; the waiter popped the cork and laid it along side Maurice's
plate, whence he picked it up, sniffed at it, and nodded his head. The waiter
put a small amount in his glass.
I was fascinated as I watched this routine: the sniffing of the cork, of the
wine, of the tasting. Addressing us, Maurice said "Spumonti comes from a
particularly interesting part of Italy. With the war and all, it's pretty
hard to find."
Lifting the glass, I noticed the color was just a little deeper than what we
had had at our place. The taste was surprising. It was bubbly like the
Champagne, but its taste was sweet and fruity. Yes, I liked this much better.
We had consumed at least half the bottle before the salad arrived. The tart
taste of the Italian dressing made the Spumonti almost too sweet. Maurice
took one bite of his salad, wrinkled his nose, and beckoned the waiter. "Bring
us a bottle of a good Brut Champagne."
Within seconds, another frosted silver bucket appeared at our table. The
waiter repeated the routine, as did Maurice. I sipped the new wine; it was
more like what we had had back at our place, and its sour (or tartness) made
the salad taste better.
Then came a rich minestrone soup accompanied by a bottle of dark red wine.
The maitre d' commented, ``This is a private Chianti. I have a friend in
California who produces it. He is very proud of it; hope you enjoy.''
Again the tasting routine and the approval. After tasting, Maurice poured
about a quarter of his glass into his soup; we all did likewise.
I don't really remember what we ate after that. I know it was good. I know
I stuffed myself. I vaguely remember more kinds of wine and a very different
dessert.
Maurice signed the check and we left, driving back to our penthouse.
"Penthouse". Wow. I had been away from California for less than two weeks,
and I was living in a "Penthouse". I had over $600 in my pocket. I had just
consumed at least $100 worth of food and drink. I was riding in a limo to my
"Penthouse", with a friend that really liked me. The world had really turned
into a great place.
If those assholes back home could see me now. Bob Schubert would wet his
pants in envy. "Hal, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for showing me
that life is worth living." A silent prayer toward someone who did more for
me than anyone on earth.
The four of us entered our apartment. Fat Fred closed the door. John grabbed
me and threw me on the bed whispering, "Let's give them a show they won't
ever forget!".
We separated and unbuttoned our coats. I helped John out of his, then he took
mine, hanging both on a wall hook. Returning, he grabbed my hand and pulled me
into him saying, "Just follow me."
With his other arm around me, we moved in a rhythm. I began to hum something
with a beat that I had heard on the radio. Then he said, "Get Ready." He spun
me around like a top as he moved his hips in a grinding motion. We separated
and moved towards our guests, moving our hips, our asses, gyrating around
them. I found myself standing in front of Fat Fred while Maurice's nose
wasn't more than a foot from John fly. Sensually, John released the top
button. I did likewise. John's dick was getting hard, as was mine. It was
like we were linked twins.
John put his hand on the back of Maurice's head and yanked it into his crotch.
I did likewise with Fat Fred. He pushed the head back, undoing the second
button. Again, the head into the crotch. Again, Fred's and Maurice's heads
were pushed back. John reached into his pants, adjusting his huge hard cock
so that it laid vertically along his abdomen. Again with the heads, bouncing
into the very hard cocks.
Maurice and Fat Fred had their mouths open, breathing hot air on to our
pricks.
Simultaneously we moved back, spun around, unbuttoned the waist button of
our trousers, switched positions, and moved back in front of our guests. As
we moved our hips around and around, we coaxed our pants down to our hips.
Our dicks were released from captivity, exposed and poised like two swords
ready to do battle. I had my hand on Maurice's head, moving slowly toward my
waiting cock. He opened his mouth wide ready to sheath my sword. I yelled,
"Slave, lick it. Lick it good".
Taking command gave me a feeling I had never had before. Even John looked
surprised. I held Maurice's head back so he couldn't put his lips over it.
Again I noticed John was doing everything I did.
Unexpectedly, I turned away from him, bent over, pushed my butt in his face
and commanded, "Lick my hole. Put your tongue in there."
John and I were now facing away from our guests as they greedily lapped our
assholes. I noticed John had a nice but lascivious smile on his face.
Maurice's tongue was in my asshole. I clamped my cheeks together and spun
around, almost spilling him on the floor. "Now suck it, and suck it like
you've never sucked dick before," I yelled. I don't know where all of the
aggressiveness was coming from, but it was there and it came tumbling out.
I pulled Maurice out of the chair, put him on the floor, straddled him, and
shoved my dick into his mouth. "Think you can take that all the way down your
throat?" I yelled.
He nodded yes. Simultaneously both John and I stuck our hard dicks down the
waiting throats of our guests.
"John! Get over here and shove that dick up my ass, while I'm fucking this
throat." John pulled out of Fat Fred's throat, put his slimy dick against my
butt, and entered me. As he fucked me, he pushed me harder into Maurice's
face.
John had said we were going to give them a show they would never forget, and
I was intent on doing that. Maurice's throat, John's dick and my aggressive
behavior had me on the edge of climaxing. I pulled out.
"John stick your dick back down Fred's throat. I'm going to fuck the shit
out of your ass". I roughly shoved my dick into Johns ass humping away like
I was trying to break through cement. Maurice started to get up. I yelled
"Lay back down there I'm not finished with you yet."
I pulled out of John's ass and resumed my position over Maurice. I took my
fingers, pried open his mouth, shoved my cock all the way to the back and
screamed, "Swallow it." Then I gave John an order "When we're ready to come,
let's pull out and come all over each other.
John was groaning, panting, "I can't hold it much longer."
"Pull out and let's do it", whereupon we turned towards each other shooting
squirt after squirt of hot cum over each other. Chest, legs, even chin and
necks had splatters of cum.
We turned back toward Fat Fred and Maurice. "Get up and lick us clean".
We laid down next to each other as our guests licked every drop of cum from
our bodies.
After we had dressed, Maurice and John walked out onto the roof, but returned
within a couple of minutes. Shortly, they said good night and left.
As they closed the door John turned toward me with a big smile. "Boy did you
do the right thing". He shook a check in front of me for $1200.
Not unexpectedly, Maurice found others to interest him. Our life together,
while not exactly platonic, nevertheless lacked the adventure of our first
week in New York. We both missed the high life we shared with Maurice. It
wasn't that there were not people to meet or things to do. In fact, with
the war and, all the city was loaded with service men out to have a good time.
Our $2,700 combined assets had dwindled to less than a thousand. I worried
about this much more than did John. Nevertheless, we continued to be creatures
of fun and play.
One afternoon we were strolling along the upper end of Times Square, passing
a club with live music. I paused and listened. A Marine officer, paused along
side for a moment, "You guys want a beer or somethin'?"
John looked at me, nodded yes, and entered the bar with him. We sat at the
far end of the bar. The musicians were on a shallow stage behind the bar.
As we sat down, the musicians took their break, promising to return shortly.
I said something to John about how I'd sure love to get my hands on the
guitar. The Marine looked over at the bartender, "My brother would like to
see that guitar". It was duly handed over.
This was the first time I had had a chance to play since I had left California
some 4 months ago. I strummed it; it was in tune. I began to play the tune
I had composed for my lost love. I guess I really poured my heart and soul
into it. Everyone quieted down listening to my plaintive wail.
As I waited along the highway
you came into my life,
your smile and love was all I needed,
you took me home wanting me,
taking me as your wife.
The musicians returned so I had to give back the guitar. The Marine was very
nice to us. John whispered that he thought he was "interested in us".
Lance was a lieutenant in the Marine Corps. Even though he was just 22, he
had been assigned to head the Marines Recruiting program in Manhattan. Before
the war, he was in college studying advertising. The war came along, it looked
like he was going to be drafted; he joined the Marine Corps, was sent to
Officers Candidate School, and assigned to New York.
He shared a small apartment in Brooklyn with a fellow officer. His description
of the officer was anything but appealing. From Wyoming. Had been a farmer.
Gruff. And farted a lot.
We were kind of bragging a bit when we talked about our "Manhattan Penthouse".
Naturally he was curious. He invited us to dinner at a nearby restaurant.
The food was good, and so was the service. Of course it couldn't compare with
"Mario's".
After dinner, Lance asked if he could see our penthouse. John said we didn't
have any thing to make drinks with. Lance said "That's OK", but stopped in
a liquor store as we passed.
As we approached our building, I could see a less than pleasant expression
on his face. He stopped at the entrance. Looked at us "This is a hustlers
hotel. Are you working boys?".
John assured him that our apartment just happened to be on the top floor of
the building. Reluctantly, Lance entered the building. We crossed the lobby,
taking the elevator to the top.
Once we were inside of our apartment, his attitude changed. He loosened up
and was even more pleasant than when we first met. John took the bag of booze,
heading for our combo kitchen/bathroom.
I took Lance out on to the roof. It had changed quite a bit since we first
saw it. We had found an old rug with which we created what began to look
like a patio. You wouldn't recognize that old table as we had painted it
white. Four broken chairs from the basement were rescued, repaired, and
painted.
Our spirits grew closer as we sat there. We discussed my interest in music,
my real age, and my life back home.
John came out carrying three glasses, a bottle of rum, some kind of orange
looking liquid in a bottle, and ice.
As he was sitting down, Lance apologized for his behavior when he first saw
our building. As a Marine Officer he had to be careful about where he was
seen. Our hotel was notorious as being a "male whore house".
To John and I that was kind of a downer. It was our Manhattan Penthouse. It
was our home. And the only guests we had ever had was Maurice and Fat Fred.
Nevertheless, there was too much truth in what he said making both of us a
bit sad.
Lance mixed the drinks. Palatable, but not great.
The second glass was a bit better.
The third put us in a "let's party" mood.
The fourth glass made it "Too damn hot out here" and we all three stripped
down to our shorts.
The fifth glass was the "friendly glass". We touched, hugged, showed we liked
each other.
The sixth glass was the "wrestling glass", pitting John and me against Lance.
It was the latter part of the "wrestling glass" that John spilled his drink
all over Lance, so he had to take his shorts off. If Lance had to take his
off, then we damn well also had to take ours off.
The seventh glass was our undoing. This was the "admiring glass". I kept
looking at Lance. His muscled buttocks, his strong and well tanned abdomen.
He explained that basic training did that to ya. John said something about
his looking like a statue in the museum, and asked if he could feel his
biceps.
Lance had his eighth and last glass, as John and I admired and touched those
beautiful, solid, well defined muscles. At that point, we all decided to
adjourn to the bed where we could lay in comfort while continuing to admire
Lance's muscles.
Lance was on his back. John and I were on our stomachs as we explored the
arms, the chest, the legs. As we traced his abdomen with our fingers we began
to explore and scratch his pubic hair. His dick began to swell as I
"accidentally" breathed out hot air in that direction.
Lance moved slightly and rested his palm on my butt. He looked at me in a
someone what intoxicated way, smiled, patted it, "Has that ever been used?"
"Not recently", I lied.
Lance's cock had become fully ridged. It was a giant. I had never had
anything that big inside of me. It was throbbing, it was ready, and I wanted
to try it.
John brought back some KY jelly, putting it on Lance's pulsating cock. Next
he squeezed some on to my butt hole.
John rolled Lance over so that he was facing me. I was still on my stomach,
so John rolled me away from Lance. Then, grabbing Lance's dick, he guided it
into my waiting hole.
John must have been impatient as he pushed Lance into me much too hard, and
it hurt like hell. "Damn! Let me do the work," I gasped.
It didn't take too much effort to get him all the way in. And it did feel
good. Lance was pumping. John said, "Stop! Lance get on your knees, put his
legs over your shoulders and give it to him that way."
Lance pulled, out, followed John's suggestion. I was on my back, my legs were
over Lance's muscled shoulders, and his rod was pointing toward my ass. John
slid between Lance's legs, looking up at those swaying ball, and guided his
hot throbbing cock into my now somewhat more relaxed asshole.
At first the pumping was slow; then it built in pace and in depth. Soon I
could feel his balls bouncing against my butt, as his heavy body slammed into
my small figure. I could hear the bed shake the room. Bang, slop, pop, bang,
slop, pop. At first I didn't think he was ever going to come. Then it changed,
I didn't ever want him to come. John, John, how does it look down there?
John was still on the bed, between Lance's legs watching his dick bounce in
and out of my ass hole. The only response I got out of John was some moaning
as I realized he was beating his meat while watching me get fucked.
Cum was coming up within me as that hot cock massaged my prostrate. At first
it felt like I had to piss, then I knew it was cum generating and generating.
Finally, I couldn't hold it back and let fly. My cum splattered all over
Lance's chest and abdomen; I was still coming when I felt him release his
load with in me. He paused, looked down at me, smiled, and resumed his fucking.
John had gotten off. "Wow, you've got cum flowing out of your ass. For some
reason that got me hot all over again, and I began pulling at Lance's butt,
trying to get him in further and further. Again my cum started to build, and
suddenly we both came again.
In John's drunken condition he thought it was funny. "Gawd, you got cum where
cum has never been", he slurred and laughed. "On your chest, flowing out of
your butt, even on your balls. Whoops, those aren't yours". He proceeded to
lick Lance's balls.
We were too drunk to do anything but fall asleep, arms and legs entangled,
cum glued skin. Intermingling body warmth. And deep deep sleep.
It was almost 10:00 the next morning when I woke. John was still sleeping,
but Lance was gone.
My head felt like it had been hit with a sledge hammer. My ass felt like it
had been fucked by a sledge hammer.
I laid back down, hoping my head would stop hurting. Aside from the headache,
I felt pretty good. Even my butt had more of a warm well massaged feeling
than a pounded feeling.
"Wake up asshole," I yelled at John, immediately wishing I had whispered. He
stirred. We shared our headaches, our hangover.
"Wow, what at orgy. How does your ass feel?" John asked me. "How about doing
a friend a favor?"
I looked down viewing John's very hard, and very ready, cock.
"Sure, go ahead", I grumbled.
John twisted me over on my back, put my legs over his shoulders, stuck his
cock up my ass, and started to pump away. "God, how can it still be so tight
after last night!".
Again I got into the rhythm, enjoying John's cock sliding in and out. Within
five minutes he pulled out and spurted his cum all over me.
We showered, dressed, and went out to breakfast. As I opened the door I saw
a guitar laying in the Hallway. The note said. "Thanks for last night, it's
been a long, long, time since ... , Love ya, Lance."
Picking up the guitar, I took it back into the room, my eyes filling with
tears. "He liked me... He really liked me."
My Teenage Heart
Chapter Three
The War, That Fucking War
The summer was over; I was approaching my 17th birthday. John was about to
get drafted. I never did find Hal. John was applying to become a 60-day-wonder
officer in the Navy. Without John, I couldn't keep the apartment. In fact
without John I didn't want to keep the apartment.
I thought about going home, but, remembering what it was like before I met
Hal, that idea bit the dust. Also, I had matured ... a lot. I could never go
back to that rural kind of life.
Maybe, just maybe, I should enlist. Yeah, just maybe. I voiced my thoughts
to John, who laughed and said, "Hey man you didn't even finish high school,
and you're only 16."
John's 18th was already passed. He had finished high school. What I didn't
know was that his dad had been killed while on destroyer duty in the Pacific,
a month or so before I had met him. With all of that going for him, he was
assured of a spot in the Navy's Officer Program.
I accompanied John to the recruiting office where he filled out pages and
pages of forms.
Waiting bored me, so I walked down the hall, passing the Marine Corp Recruit-
ing office. I went in. "I want to join the Marines", without looking up, the
guy at the desk pushed a pile of papers at me.
"Fill these out". You can sit over there."
They wanted to know where I was born, how far in school I had progressed,
where I had attended school, and on and on. When it came to how old I was,
I lied, making myself 17 going on 18.
I signed the papers, handing them to the guy at the desk. He looked them
over and said "OK Kid you're in the Marines, be back here day after tomorrow
for your physical". It was just that quick. It was just that easy.
I strolled back into the Navy recruiting office where John was still filling
out forms. "Hey, fucker... I'm in the fucking Marine Corps".
John looked up, not sure that he heard me correctly. "What do you mean you're
in the Marines?" Then he quietly snickered, "Last time I noticed, it was
the other way around."
"I'm not kidding. The Marine Recruiting Office is right next door. I walked
in. Told them I wanted to join. They handed me a stack of forms which I filled
out, signed. And they told me I was now a Marine. I have to come back day
after tomorrow for my physical."
John was dumbfounded. With all of the paper processing they had to do on his
officer training application, he probably wouldn't be reporting for at least
another six weeks.
We were both a little sad as we walked back to "The Penthouse". We had
developed a strong feeling for each other. Under his tutelage, I had developed
into a young man. Looking back, I realized that I had been an immature baby
when I left home. Hal, Jack, Jerry, and John had contributed to my
development. If it hadn't been for them, I couldn't or wouldn't have
thought I was ready for military service.
At 6:30 I hopped out of bed, dressed, had breakfast and headed for my 7:30
appointment at the recruiting office. There must have been a hundred guys
crowded in the hall way. A Marine came out and yelled. "Make a straight line
against the left wall. You'll be getting on a bus which will take you to the
Navy Annex at the Brooklyn Navy Yard. There you will be given a complete
physical. You will also be interviewed. They will go over your recruitment
papers. You will be returned here by 1800 hours. Presuming you have passed,
you will report here day after tomorrow where you will be issued transportation
to the US Marine Recruit Depot in San Diego California. It is there that YOU
WILL BE reformed into a U.S.Marine; in the mean time you guys are dog meat.
Have fun!"
The first thing they did at the Navy Annex was take our clothes. I stood in
line with a hundred other naked guys. Some black, some white, some with short
dongs, others with huge ones.
We were to be examined, inoculated, and interviewed. We would be given
further instructions at the end of the process.
I had my mouth probed, by balls felt, my dick milked, a finger shoved up my
ass (had a hard time keepin' it down for that one), and my ass slapped.
By mid-afternoon I had received shots in the left shoulder, shots in the
right shoulder, more shots in both cheeks of my ass, and a colorless tattoo
on my right arm.
As I stood in line for the last of my shots, Lance walked by. I didn't think
he saw me, or if he did probably didn't recognize me.
Then it was in for interviews. They asked me why I wanted to join the Marines.
They asked me if I had ever had sexual relations with anyone other than my
right hand. They questioned me about each entry I had made on my application
form. Everything but the age had been truthful, so there wasn't anything to
trip me up.
A young marine walked into the room, handed my interviewer a note, saluted
and left.
"Well That's it son. Your physical was good, although you need some body
building. You're dismissed." He paused, then added, "Your next stop is the
office at the end of hall. Give them these papers."
I sat on a small bench just outside of the office at the end of the hall.
Unlike every other "stop", where there had been at least 30 guys ahead of me,
I was the only one.
The same young marine who had interrupted my interview walked up "OK, kid,
the Lieutenant will see you." Before I entered the room, I knew who I would
be facing.
"Close the door behind you," he spoke softly and motioned me into a chair.
"You know you lied when you filled out these forms, don't you."
"I know, but only about my age. I'll be 17 in October. John is going in the
Navy. I can't go back home. I need the Marines." I looked up, pleadingly at
Lance.
"Yes, I can see that the training you'll get will make a lot of good changes
in you. You know there is still another problem. If your application is
accepted, and you join as a 17 year old, you will need your mother's
permission. She'll have to sign and notarize her agreement. I'll have to
think about it for a while, see what I can work out. Why don't you come back
tomorrow about noon. In the mean time, we can both try and figure out what
is best for you." I got up and started to leave. "By the way how's the
guitar?"
After retrieving my clothes, I took the subway back to 35th street. I realized
I had been found out, that I wasn't going to become a Marine, that I had no
plans after John left. The great unknown frightened me.
John was still at home, double-checking some more forms the navy required.
As I walked in the door, he knew something had gone wrong. He told me not to
worry. Maybe I could get a job with one of Maurice's companies. He'd call
around tomorrow and see what he could do.
"But don't give up on the Marines, I'll bet you if anything can be done,
Lance'll do it. You know that guitar was a gift from the heart, not payment
for services rendered".
That night John took me to a Russian restaurant down in the village. We had
Stroganoff and wine. Strolling musicians played wild music. People went to
the dance floor, joining the dancing folk music. Two rather pretty girls
joined us on the dance floor; we twirled and moved in time with and mimmicking
the real dancers. After the dance, the girls seemed to linger. When John
invited them to join us at our table, they readily did.
We were in a booth, and the girls sat between us. John poured wine for them,
but all too soon the wine was gone. My girl had placed her hand on my leg;
gently and friendly. My cock, on the other hand, took it quite differently
and began to rise to the occasion. In trying to adjust myself, I knocked my
napkin to the floor. As I reached under the table I saw that John's girl was
massaging his rod, and it was really bulging. As I sat back up, I glanced at
John, he gave me a wink, raising his eyebrows pretty much saying, "The world
is full of pleasant surprises."
We had ordered a round of Vodka Martinis. The manager came over to apologize
as the girls were too young to drink the "Vodka". "Well, we'll just have to
move the party to our place." John signaled a Cab, and we sped up towards
35th. John stopped the cab, ran into a liquor store, and came out with a
fifth of Vodka, a bottle of Vermouth, and a bag of ice.
We sat on our patio, telling the girls of our going off to war. Of John
becoming a sailor, and of me being a Marine.
It was almost funny to watch John and me. We did the same things together,
almost in synchronism. I put my arm around my girl, he put his arm around
his. We danced the same way, slow music; except there was no music. We made
believe, we caressed ear lobes, we ground pelvises.
The girls giggled, and we poured more Martinis. I reached over and began to
massage her breast; she moved her hand 'til it was touching my throbbing
cock. She seemed to be pleased with what she found.
We moved inside and sat on the bed like it was a couch. I had my mouth nuzzled
down on her breasts; as I looked up, I saw that John's girl had his cock out
of his pants. Very soon, without prompting, my girl had mine out as well.
We pulled the girls up off the bed and began removing their clothing while
they were undoing our shirts, and pants. Soon we were without clothes, my
dick rubbing her hairy "V", as was John's.
Holding them close, we again circled the floor as in a dance. My girl had
reached down, putting my dick between her legs. If it had been any bigger, it
probably would have lifted her off of her feet.
We moved them back toward the bed, laying them down. I raised her legs,
much as Lance had raised mine, as she guided me into her hot pussy. I moved
in gently until I was sure she could take it all. Then began the dance of
love. John was by my side; we were still in synchronism. As I went in, so
did he. When pulling out we did it together.
As our juices built within us, we began to perform. We emitted animal sounds,
grunts, and small yells. They evolved into louder yells as we built to that
final climax, and screamed at the top of our lungs as we drove deeply into
those young cunts, filling them with sperm.
The girls took turns using the toilet. They dressed in the bathroom, while
John and I did so in our front room.
As for the girls, the "party was over", and they wanted to go home. John
and I were still feeling sexy. But the girls insisted, so we walked them down
to the IRT, and they departed.
"Didn't know you were into girls," John said on the way back.
"I wasn't. I just lost my virginity."
When we got back to our bed we were both still very randy. We undressed and
looked at each other. We both had very hard cocks.
John said, "I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours." We laughed,
standing there fondling each other. "Feel like 69?"
I said yes, and John laid out on the bed, face up. I kneeled over him with
my balls in his face, and his dick at my lips. At first, I approached my task
gently. Then I got playful and nibbled along the length of the shaft. I
could tell that it was working as he made exquisite noises. He put his hand
on the cheeks of my ass and pulled my dick down into his throat. I fucked
his throat; it was great.
He pulled out and said, "I'll get you off like this, if you'll let me into
that sweet ass again."
I got up and laid back down on my back. John positioned himself between my
legs and proceeded to give me the best blow job I had ever had. He repeated
what I had done by nibbling along the shaft. Then he sucked on my balls,
again with a bit of nibbling and a little pressure, then back to taking the
whole thing down his throat and swallowing.
The juices began to well from deep within me. I could feel them generating
into a veritable fountain of cum. I tensed. My abdomen hardened, and I
exploded for what seemed to me to be at least 5 minutes of continued shooting.
We rested for a moment, then he placed my legs over his shoulders raising
into (what we now called) the Lance position.
It was an easy entry. Almost immediately he was deep with in me. I could feel
his cock stimulating my prostrate. I thought I was going to come again. Again,
and again those deep body probing thrust as though he was trying to crawl
inside of me, to become one with me. I could tell that he was almost there.
The sound of the elevator opening on our floor scared the hell out of us.
We put on our shorts as though we had been asleep. I answered the knock on
the door... it was John's girl. She brushed past me, stood in the middle of
the floor; looked John straight in the eye, and said she wanted to sleep with
us. Both of us.
John looked at me, raised the blanket and said, "Well, come on honey; it's
all ready for you," as he displayed his well developed boner.
She looked over at me, "You, too, dummy. Take those stupid shorts off; I
want both of you, and at the same time."
I looked over at John; he gave me this silly grin, like `anything once, let's
go for it.'
Having just been sucked dry, I wasn't particularly horny, and I had to take
a leak.
When I came back, John was already in the saddle. His ass was moving up and
down shoving her butt into the bed. John looked up, saw me, and flipped on
their sides while still pumping away. He pointed to her back side telling
me that that's where I should put my dick. As I watched them fuck, my rod
took off on its own. Back in the bathroom, I lubricated my shaft with KY.
Returning, I laid beside them with the head of my cock gently prodding her
cheeks.
With one deft move of her hand she had me up her butt, but what I found there
surprised me.
As John pushed in, I could feel his cock rub mine. We fell into synchronism,
our asses moving in and out, our dicks practically touching each other's. We
began to play games with each other's dick as we wiggled inside of her. She
hadn't the faintest idea of what was going on. Little did she know that John
and I were playing with each other inside of her body.
This new experience, this new idea set me on fire; I matched and even exceeded
John's thrusting. When we were all the way in, I could feel his cock
pulsating. On the outward movements his member throbbed against mine.
I looked at John's movements; I measured them against mine. I soon realized
this wasn't any ordinary fuck ... John and I were having wild sex between
us; the girl was just incidental. We both reached our climax at the same
time; on the same inward thrust, shot after shot. I experienced John's
climax, as he experienced mine.
John and I were both quivering from the experience. The girl couldn't figure
what was going on or what had happened. Sometime during our exercise she had
gotten off several times, unbeknownst to either of us.
The girl got out of bed. We just laid there next to each other, dicks
collapsed, totally drained, as she dressed and let herself out. As the door
closed behind her, I turned toward John, looked him square in the eye and
said, "I love you."
He smiled; "Yeah, I know... and I'm gonna miss ya".
------------------------------------------------------------
My Teenage Heart
Chapter 4
In the Marine Corps
We were both worn out from our late partying, but John had to be at the Navy
recruiting office at 9:00.
My appointment with Lance wasn't until noon. I tried to sleep in but couldn't.
I had too many things on my mind. What am I going to do without John if the
Marines won't take me? Then I worried about what would happen to my guitar
if they did.
Sleep wasn't for me, so I dragged my sorry ass out of bed, got dressed, and
headed for the Navy Annex, arriving shortly after 11:00 -- almost an hour
before I was expected. Lance came down the hall, paused, "Hey kid, glad
you're early. Come on in, I've got some good news for you."
I followed him into his office, again sitting opposite him. "Damn it, you
left the door open; close it. OK, here's what's happening. You'll be 17 in
just a couple of weeks, and we will take you in on what we call a kiddie
cruise. But that can't happen 'til the day after your birthday. I wired your
mother for her permission, and, if she agrees, we will issue you transportation
orders and train tickets whereupon you will forthwith proceed to the U.S.
Marine Recruit Office in Santa Ana California. Gunny Sargent Jackson will
then transport you to your mother's where she will execute a document
permitting you to enter the Marine Corps. Once she has done that, you will
be left with your mother 'til the day after your 17th birthday, whence you
will proceed to the U.S. Marine Corps Recruit Depot in San Diego, arriving
there no later than 6:30 AM October 3rd."
Lance stopped shouting, lowered his voice and said ... "You are going to make
one hell of a Marine. After boot camp, keep me posted as to how you are doing.
After boot camp, keep that guitar with you, it will remind you that Marines
do care about their buddies. I'll let you know as soon as we hear from your
mom."
I was pretty sure mom would agree. I had missed almost a year of school, so
going back to school was out of the question. Then, on top of all that, a
lot of kids were dropping out of school and going off to war.
By the time I got back to the "Penthouse", John had returned and was laying
naked on the old mattress on the patio soaking up the sun. "So what happened
with Lance?"
After slipping out of my clothes, I laid down beside him, letting my body
relax from all of the partying. I told him the good news; he seemed genuinely
happy for me.
Very rapidly the hours passed as we just laid there talking, enjoying each
other's company. The sun was on its way down when we heard a rap at our door.
Still naked I walked to the door and opened it a crack. It was Lance. He came
in with a grin "Hell, don't you kids ever wear any clothes?".
Mother had wired her permission; my train left Penn Station at midnight
tonight. He had brought my orders and the train tickets.
"Well, gotta go. Have a meeting downtown in less than 30 minutes. Besides,
you two have a lot of goodbyes to say."
It was a mixture of sadness, and excitement. A new adventure was about to
begin.
I had arrived in New York with only the clothes on my back. I now had a
guitar and two suit cases full of sharp looking duds.
The train was packed with military and a few civilians that I later learned
were like me, heading for boot camp.
My ticket was for a sleeping compartment. The black porter showed me where
it was. There were four bunks so I knew I had roommates.
The train would take me to Union Station in Los Angeles. A bus would then
transport me to Santa Ana.
The porter had made up the bunks, but I was too excited to sleep. Most of
the train was asleep. I found the dining car, but it was closed. When I
returned to my compartment, I found two of the bunks occupied, both soundly
asleep. As I undressed, the train pulled out of the station. The clumpy
clump rhythm of the wheels soon lulled me to sleep.
Sometime during the night, the train had pulled onto a siding, so that it
could proceed into Chicago to pick up passengers at 8 AM.
While the rhythm of the wheels had put me to sleep, the same sounds woke me
as we continued towards Chicago.
The porter came by and suggested that if we wanted breakfast we had better
hurry to the dining car. It was then that I met the other two guys. One
was a sailor dressed in blues, the other a soldier headed for Schofield
Barracks in Hawaii.
I had never before been on a train, so the exploration last night at least
gave me an idea of what and where things were. I was not, however, prepared
for the dining car. Crisp white linen. Crystal glasses, polished silverware.
Black waiters in white uniforms. One handed each of us a pad. "Y'all write
on the pad what ya wanna eat. Just copy it off of the menu. If ya gotta
military vouchers, you use that menu, if ya don't, then ya use this 'n." We
all three had vouchers so we took turns reading, selecting, and writing down
the same choice: pancakes, sausage, coffee. Our waiter picked up the order
slips, carried them to a tiny kitchen in the back of the car, returning with
coffee.
I had hardly doctored my coffee with cream and sugar before he was back with
our breakfast. "Ya all wanna gimme da vouchers now. One from each of ya."
We handed them over, and began to eat our breakfast.
We were just settling into our compartment seats as the train pulled into
Chicago Station. The porter came by and told us to just stay put, they were
taking on passengers and would be departing within 15 minutes. I took the
guitar from its case and began to improvise, a little country, a little
western. I was relaxing, and the other two guys seemed to enjoy the sounds.
The porter ushered in our other roommate. He was dressed in Navy blues.
Short, crew cut, blonde hair, about 17 or 18. A butt that wouldn't stop, and
a complexion that should have made him a model. My dick jumped straight to
my belly button.
"Wow, what a cute guy," I thought.
He took one look at me and my guitar. "Fuckin' hillbilly. Do I gotta listen
to that shit?"
"If you don't want the guitar bounced off your head, and my dick up your
little butt, you will shut the fuck up, sit down, and be thankful I didn't
lose my temper." I couldn't believe I said that.
He muttered something about `hillbilly faggot', and I went for him. The other
two guys held me back, and told him he'd better find someplace else to sit.
The porter came in, got the kid's suitcase, and moved him to another car.
Every time we saw each other, we glared, and that went on for 3 days.
One of my other roommates had played a little guitar, and gave me some
pointers. He also taught me a few more tunes, as the three of us played,
sang, and harmonized all the way to L.A.
Union Station in Los Angeles was about eight blocks from the Bus Station. I
put the guitar strap over my shoulder, picked up my two bags, and headed
towards the bus. A cab went rushing by me. "Hey ya fuckin' faggot, hope ya
drop dead." It was the cute young sailor from Chicago.
Two hours later, I was in Santa Ana. I called the number Lance had given me.
It was picked up on the first ring. Whoever answered spoke so fast that I
couldn't understand what they said.
"Hello. Can I talk with Gunny Sargent Jackson."
A different voice came on the line. "Sorry the Sargent won't be back 'til
after 2. Can I take a message?"
"No, I was instructed to call him immediately upon my arrival in Santa Ana."
The voice paused. "Where are you calling from?"
After telling the voice where I was and why, they told me to just stay put,
and a car would pick me up. "Keep your eyes open for a black Ford with USMC
on the door."
The car had deposited me at the Marine Corps Recruiting office. I had been
sitting there for about an hour. A tall, muscular, marine came into the office
"You the kid from New York that Lt. Parker called me about?"
Mother wasn't home when the Sargent and I arrived, so we sat in the living
room 'til she returned. I could tell the Sargent didn't think much of the
house, and must have wondered how a marine corps officer got involved with
me.
When she did return, she couldn't believe how much I had changed. This nerdy
little kid had run away, but what returned was a well dressed young man,
exuding confidence, and self assurance.
She and the Sargent spoke for a few minutes, then she signed the paper he
gave her. "Don't forget. San Diego on the 3rd."
Mother looked out the window and said, "Look the kids are home from school;
you want to go out and see them."
I was curious, but not willing to make the first move, so I walked down to
the corner store. The kids spotted me, recognized me, but couldn't really
believe it. I was dressed in my white slacks, my gray shirt, and my blue
jacket. At the store, the clerk told me how happy they were that I was back,
that they understood I was going into the Marine Corps. I bought a bottle of
chocolate milk, and headed back towards the house.
"Hey I see you're back," a familiar voice spoke. I looked at Bob Schubert
with a glare. "Wanna go for a hike in the hills?"
"Listen you little asshole, if you come near me again, I'll stomp your stinking
ass into the ground." He made some nasty, threatening retort. I turned,
raised my voice, "And if that doesn't work, I'll tell everyone you sucked my
dick from the time I was 12 'til I left for New York."
And that ended my problems with Schubert. If I had only known how to handle
him a couple of years ago, things would have been a lot different. In compar-
ing the neighborhood kids with myself, here and now, I knew that I was happier
to be who I was and would not trade with any of them.
From the very beginning, my mother's husband did not like me, and I certainly
didn't care for him. From his point of view, I represented an interference
in his life with her. I'm sure he was happy when I ran off to New York. So
it was with some apprehension that I awaited his coming home from work.
When he did greet me, it was with warmth and more than a little surprise in
how much I had changed.
The kids (my peers) began to hang around, trying to engage me, but I found
them boring and child like. Within a few days, I was only too happy to see
my birthday spring past me, letting me depart for San Diego. When I did leave,
I left my guitar, saying that I wanted it as soon as I was out of basic
training. I told her to give away my clothes as I was still growing, some
one else might like them.
October first, my birthday, was hot and humid. While laying in bed, my
thoughts drifted back over the years: New York and John, Lance, Maurice and
Fat Fred, Jack, Jerry, and then Hal.
My good morning boner was getting in the way. I hadn't gotten off since that
last day with John. It began with my scratching my pubes and my balls. The
scratching continued along the shaft. Each pleasant scratch caused my shaft
to bounce. Again, my thoughts flashed back to John, that night when he nibbled
the length of my cock. My hand encircled the base of the shaft, and slid
upward, forcing the blood into the head, engorging, enlarging it.
"Breakfast is ready... Happy Birthday." I flipped over on my stomach as
mother entered the room. "It's almost 10 o'clock... I've even baked you a
cake."
Thus ended my morning fantasy. I got up, took a piss, put on an old pair of
corduroy pants, washed my teeth, and had breakfast.
Mother said she had invited some of my "friends" over for ice cream and cake.
Kind of a birthday party. "Although, I know you are too old for that now."
The kids arrived in a group. There was Dick, Eugene, Tom, Alvin, even Charlie
Case who lived almost a mile away. "Where's Bob?" my mother inquired. Someone
said that he couldn't come.
To me the party seemed stupid. Little kids sitting around eating ice cream
and cake. Hell, the last party I'd been to, we drank Martinis, got drunk,
and fucked the shit out two girls. And CERTAINLY stupid for a United States
Marine.
The party was short lived; the kids left, my cock was still up and down most
of the day but I couldn't find time to be by myself. Dinner came and went.
Mother reminded me that tonight was the last night I'd be at home as tomorrow
I had to catch the train to San Diego.
We went to bed early that night. The house was quiet. The light of a full
moon flooded my room as I lay under the covers, again reflecting back over
the years. As my mind traveled back in time, anger rushed into my soul. All
of the bullying that I had suffered at Bob Schubert's hands, all of the
rejection that I experienced from all of the local kids. I even felt anger
towards my mother for not being home enough to know that there had been
something very wrong in those early years.
It was about 9:30. I couldn't go to sleep. I dressed, left the house, and
walked up one of the old roads, re-exploring the scenery, and my tribulations.
Walking by a pasture reminded me of the time when 12 year old Eugene tried
sticking his dick in a cow's cunt, but couldn't find a way to keep her still.
Then on the left was the oil well where I got my first blow job.
I walked over to the well, sat on the platform, my legs dangling over the
edge. My cock was throbbing in my pants. Unbuttoning them let it jump into
the fresh air. It beckoned my hand. It wanted to be stroked.
"What the fuck got into you the other day?" It was Bob Schubert; he had
apparently followed me up the road. "Whatcha doin' there?" He walked over,
standing before me, standing on the ground some three feet below me, looking
straight into my rod.
I didn't answer. All of the anger boiled out of me as I grabbed his head,
brought it down on my dick, almost sticking it up his nose. "God damn you.
Open your fuckin' mouth before I shove it up your sniveling nose.". Those
years of abuse that I had suffered at his hand brought emotions from deep
within me that I didn't even know were there.
As he slipped his lips over the head of my cock, he also started pulling his
cock out of his pants. "If you want your cock out, then get naked," I
commanded, but I wouldn't let loose of his head, I kept it on my dick. My
hand was pumping his head while he attempted to remove his clothes. First
the shirt, then he dropped his pants and shorts.
By then, mine had been kicked to the ground. One of my arms slipped out of
my shirt while the other was pounding his head into my groin. Switching
hands, the shirt easily slid off. Bob still was wearing a tee shirt.
Reaching over, I grabbed the bottom of it, jerking it up, trying to rip it
off of his body. Instead, it gave me an unexpected leverage on his head
allowing me to not only force my dick to the back of his mouth, but jamming
it down his throat.
He gagged. Vomit started up out of his throat, enveloping my thrusting member
with hot liquid. My dick loved it. Using the shirt as a halter I swung his
head out, allowing him to breath. He swallowed his vomit as I hauled him back
onto my waiting shaft.
Yanking his head off of my dick, I shouted "Motherfucker, lay down on the
ground. The tee shirt slipped down over his head where he couldn't see as I
jumped off of the platform shoving him to the ground. The fall knocked the
air out of his lungs. The moon reflecting off of that tender young 17 year
old ass was beautiful. My dick was slimy from his vomit and his saliva.
Jerking his cheeks apart I slammed my cock hard and fully up his ass; his
scream of pain should have been heard for half a mile. "This, you
motherfucker, is for that time you stripped me naked and were going to chase
me home."
My cock rammed in and out, deeply, fully, and rapidly. My ass was moving up
and down faster about four times to one pump of the oil well. His screaming
changed to cursing, then to grunts, then to moans, and finally sounds of
pleasure. "First time you ever been fucked! Guarantee it won't be the last."
Each thrust brought back memories of his abuse. I shot my load deep up his
ass. I rested a moment.
I pulled my dick out of his ass; it was covered with shit. That made me really
angry. Grabbing his legs, I twisted him over. There was cum all over his
stomach where he had shot his load while I was fucking him.
Straddling him, I shoved my shit covered dick in his arm pit and fucked that
for a time. When I pulled it out most of the shit had been wiped away. "Open
your GODDAMN MOUTH," I yelled, then shoved my cock. "Over the lips, past the
gums, watch out gullet here it comes", as it rammed deep down his throat.
I could feel Bob beating his meat as I continued fucking his throat. My cum
had already built and was ready to shoot. Pulling out, I turned around, "Stick
your tongue up by butt. I want to feel it all the way in there." The pace
of his licking and tongue fucking increased. My cock spewed forth its load
all over his stomach, and triggered his own release which hit me squarely in
the face.
Moving away from him I started to dress. He was still just laying there with
come all over his body: stomach, face, legs, and dripping out of his ass
hole. "You got any money?" I demanded.
"$5.00."
"Give it to me, asshole. I don't let anybody suck my cock unless I get paid
for it." He handed over the money.
I had a hundred dollars in my pocket, mostly ones, wrapped into a roll which
sported a twenty on the outside. Flashing the roll, I wrapping his five around
the outside snarling, "The only time I ever want to see you again is if you've
got money and want your cute ass fucked or you want to suck my dick."
I turned and walked home with the relief that comes from getting 10 years of
anger out of my system. I slept like a rock.
The next morning just before I left for San Diego, Mom asked if I had gotten
a letter from `Hal'. My heart jumped in my mouth. "Hal who?"
She said she didn't know, but he drove a blue sports car. "He came by in
July, shortly after you left for New York. He seemed upset that you were in
New York. I gave him your address at the YMCA. He said he would write."
In 1943, San Diego was a beehive of military activity. It was the major naval
base for the Pacific. Both the Navy and Marines had major basic training
centers. It was also a major sea transportation site congregating thousands
of soldiers, sailors, and marines for overseas transport. Thousands of
civilians built ships, airplanes, and land vehicles.
The train from Fullerton landed me in San Diego at 5:00 PM. According to my
orders, I was to report to MCRD at 6:30 the next day. Re-reading my orders,
I found that I was to spend the night at the Armed Forces YMCA, and that
transportation to MCRD would leave the "Y" at 5:30.
My accommodations was a mattress on the floor of the gymnasium; one mattress
amongst 100's.
Dinner was a hamburger and french fries. A sailor sitting next to me started
a conversation. He was from Modesto, a city about 400 miles north of San
Diego. Sam had just finished Radio Operator School at the Naval Training
Center, and was assigned to a Mine Sweeper. He was to report aboard tomorrow
morning. Sam was 22, burly, about 170 lbs, black hair, and had something of
a beard.
We left the dinner together, walking down several side streets. We went into
a bar. Sam had beer, and I got drunk as a skunk on Boiler Makers (that's
beer mixed with shots of whiskey).
I was too drunk to find the "Y" so Sam practically carried me there.
When I finally found the gym it was pitch black. I couldn't find my mattress.
I passed out on someone else's vacant pad.
"Transportation to MCRD will be leaving in 30 minutes!" The announcement hit
my head like a sledge hammer. I scrambled out from under the sheet and realized
I was naked. Looking around, I found my shoes, shirt, and pants, but no
shorts. I slipped on my pants, got into my shoes, grabbed my shirt and headed
for the toilet.
Finding a vacant seat I sat down. It was then I found my ass was slimy.
Some one had fucked my ass while I was passed out, and probably swiped my
shorts.
A few small turds dropped as I grunted. I looked down, and saw that whoever
had fucked me had dropped one hell of a lot of cum. Then I began to wonder
if there had been more than one guy.
I was still buttoning my shirt as I ran for the bus to MCRD.
"All of you guys are dog shit. You are babies. You are pussies. It is my
sorry job to beat you down into a usable mush and rebuild you in to men.
Not just men but the best of men. Not just the best of men, but the greatest
of all, a United States Marine. You will NOT like me. You will NOT like what
I will do to you. But you WILL become a United States Marine. You will become
a PROUD United States Marine." As I stood there at attention listening to
this tirade by some burly Marine, I could feel cum leaking out of my butt,
and down my leg.
We were then marched into a long wooden building. The same Marine was still
in charge. "OK, girls, you will now strip down to your shorts. Your clothes
will either be sent home, or you may donate them to The Marine Relief Fund
by dropping them in the box at the end of the counter."
A kid up front asked, "What do we do if we aren't wearing undershorts?"
"Not wearing undershorts? What do you mean not wearing undershorts. Are you
a hillbilly or something? Not wearing undershorts? You will then expose your
naked ass to all as you stand in line to get your uniforms, and when you get
your uniforms YOU will WEAR Underwear. Is that clear!"
Not only had I lost my shorts, but I had cum dripping down my leg. I began
scratching my legs and butt, trying to wipe the cum into the leg of my pants.
Also, I began to notice the pleasant warmth around my ass hole that happens
after you have been fucked. "God I hope they don't look up my butt". I knew
any one looking at my ass hole would know it had recently been exercised.
I must have succeeded in sopping it all up, as when I removed my clothes to
drop in the box at the end, every thing seemed to be dry. But me and the kid
up front were the only two who weren't wearing shorts.
The Marine in charge walked down the line. He stopped in front of the kid.
"Well, well. Gents, look at this cute ass. If you get horny you know where
to come." He continued his walk, and came to me. He stopped; "Well, looks
like we've got two available cute asses here. What happened to yours, girly?"
"I got drunk last night and shit in them."
"Well, well, Gents. We'll have to make this one unavailable, as NO US MARINE
will ever stick his dick in shit. Is THAT understood."
We were then marched into the next room, where we were issued the first part
of our duffel bag. The bag, three pairs of shorts, socks, shoes, three pair
of fatigues, tee shirts, a cap, belt, soap box, soap, and razor.
For the next three weeks, we marched, climbed, did pushups, marched double
time, and practiced hand to hand combat. Then in the afternoons we would do
the same thing. Then in the evenings we would do the same thing.
Our barracks had a hundred racks (bunks) in it. Each rack had two bunks, a
lower and upper. The racks were positioned in groups of four, two end to end,
two side by side.
Lights out was at 9:30. Every night I was asleep within five minutes. My body
ached; my legs hurt; I was sore all over. The only time I had a hard-on was
in the mornings.
At 4:30, "Up and at'em. Drop your cocks and grab your socks. Out of those
sacks. Muster in 15 minutes on the grinder."
My bunk mate, meaning the guy whose breath I smelled if we slept facing each
other, was from New Orleans. "Stocky, muscular, 5 foot 6 inches, a well
defined baby's butt, and a good tan" should be his foundation description,
upon which I would add, happy-go-lucky, carefree, and with a perpetual hard-on.
His name was Burt. He was not only my bunk mate, he became my best friend.
On the third Sunday of our training, we were permitted visitors. Marines
whose families lived near by could bring food and have a picnics on the lawn
in front of the visitors center. My mother and her husband made the 100 mile
trip. Burt came along. Earl, my mother's husband, had done the driving, so
it was just the four of us. There was chicken, Kool Aid, potato salad, and
apple pie.
There was also a thermos Earl supplied, it had two quarts of Orange Juice.
To be more correct it had 1 quart of Orange Juice, and 1 quart of Rum. Earl
gave me a sip of his "punch"; I shared it with Burt, so as the afternoon went
on, the Kool Aid was consumed only by mother, while Burt and I bottomed out
the orange juice. We also devoured every morsel of food they set before us.
Mother wasn't too happy about the orange juice, but her only remark was that
she wondered why the marines didn't feed us more.
They left at 2:00. Burt and I were feeling no pain. We didn't have to be
back at the Barracks 'til 4:00, so we wandered off, exploring parts of the
base we had not seen. We stumbled upon a room that had a huge blower used to
cool the educational building.
Being a Sunday, there was no one in the building. We sneaked into the room,
snapped the inside lock, and sat on the floor like a couple of kids. We talked
and bragged about girl friends, and getting laid. We lied a lot. As we talked
my dick go stiff so I reached inside of my pants and moved it.
Burt touched his own dick, and I could see that it was aroused. "This is the
first time I've been by myself since I left home. No pussy, haven't even
been able to jack off."
"Yeah, I know what you mean. So what's stopping you?"
I opened my fly and pulled out my cock. He watched me give it a couple of
strokes and then took his out. There we sat jacking off like a couple of
teenagers. We were watching one another, and I think what we saw made it
better, for it wasn't more than five minutes when I came. Burt dropped his
load less than 30 seconds later.
The exercise had worked most of the alcohol from our systems. And surprisingly
neither of us seemed embarrassed at what we had done. We buttoned ourselves
up, left the blower room, and returned to the barracks, a load off our minds.
Our first weekend pass came the week before graduation. Burt and I had decided
to hitchhike up to Hollywood. Maybe we might even see some movie stars.
Our passes started Friday at 16:30 hours. We had to be back by 05:30 hours
on Monday. At 17:00 hours, we were standing on the highway with our thumbs
out. We had been paid, so Burt had $50.00 that combined with my $155.00 to
give us over two hundred bucks to spend.
We had been standing for less than 15 minutes when a beautiful red convertible
stopped. The driver was a gray haired man of about 35. Good looking, well
dressed, nice smile. "Where you soldiers going?"
"Hollywood."
"You're in luck, that's where I'm going."
Burt was sitting in the back seat; I was up front with the driver. I could
tell from the way he kept looking at me that he was interested. If Burt hadn't
been along, I'd made a deal with the guy and gotten my duck sucked. Burt
couldn't see what I was doing in the front seat, so I turned side ways with
my knee on the seat. He "accidentally" brushed his hand against it. I forced
a hard-on, and positioned it where he could see it, but not easily touch.
"What are you guys going to do in Hollywood?"
I told him we were on a weekend pass. We wanted to see if we could see any
movie stars.
He kind of chuckled and said, "Guess you guys lucked out more than you know.
I live up in the hills behind Hollywood and I know a few movie stars. You
ever hear of Alan Ladd or Danny Kaye?"
I turned around and looked at Burt, he looked surprised but happy.
I re-arranged my dick so that it was really showing off. The driver reached
down and moved his own very hard dick. "Where are you guys staying in
Hollywood?"
We hadn't even thought about that, so I said, "Probably the YMCA".
"That will be full up by the time we get there. Tell you what, why don't
you guys stay with me. You'll not only have a place to stay but you'll have
a chance to meet some movie stars."
I turned around towards Burt with an expression that I knew he would
understand, "You know what's up don't you?"
I hoped he interpreted the message, because in response to his grin I said,
"Hey, that's awful nice of you."
We stopped in Oceanside for gas. While the guy was inside, I asked Burt if
he understood what the guy was after. Burt said "Hell, yes. He wants to suck
our dicks. I haven't had any pussy in so long I'd fuck a snake."
"I've been trying to turn him on to see what he would do."
Burt said that he could see my reflection from the rear view mirror. With
that revelation, I decided we should switch seats and see what happened next.
When the driver returned he noticed the switch and suggested that we all
three sit up front. I moved back up front with Burt in the middle.
We had barely gotten back on the highway when I saw Burt readjust a hard-on
so the driver could touch it if he wanted to. And want to he did.
At first he laid his hand flat on it. Then he squeezed it a bit. Burt undid
his belt, opened his fly, and let him put his hand down his pants. Watching
all of this action was having its effect on me. I pulled my rod free, squeezing
it gently. Burt pulled the guys hand out saying that he didn't want to come
in his pants, but putting the guys hand on my cock. He took turns playing
with our cocks all the way to Hollywood.
We had taken Highway 101 then drove past Union Station over an area called
Silver Lake, up Sunset Blvd., and finally down Hollywood Blvd.
Vince, our patron, told us about various points of interest. We went past a
big domed building with a cross on it. "That's Aimee McFerson's church." He
pointed out Monogram Studios, Paramount, Hollywood and Vine Street. Dr. Lee
DeForest's home (the guy that invented the radio tube). At the end of Hollywood
Blvd. we turned up into "the Canyon". He pointed out Houdini's house and
as we turned again, a large house built of logs where Ken Maynard lived. When
we got to Fatty Arbuckles house, we made a right, and then a left across a
draw bridge, parking in front of an imitation castle.
There was a moat surrounding the house that was the swimming pool. He said
the drawbridge really worked and frequently, when he needed complete isolation,
he would pull up the bridge and disconnect the telephone.
Just inside the front door on the right was a huge dining room. The table
had 12 chairs, 5 on each side, and one at each end.
To the left was a large living room. Complete with fireplace, logs, and
polar bear rug.
At the end of the entry hall, we turned left into another hall. The first
door was open and must have been his bedroom. The bed was at least eight feet
wide. There was a mirror on the ceiling. The carpet was thick and soft. The
entire room was paneled in mahogany. The carpet was light brown, it also had
a fireplace.
At the end of the hall was the guest room. While well decorated, it was tiny.
It had only one small bed. "One of you guys will have to double up with me."
Burt quipped, "I've got the duty rack tonight, tomorrow night we'll switch."
Thus Burt had placed himself in Vince's bed.
"The moat is heated so you can swim whenever you want. Skinny dipping is OK
as long as you don't get out of the water by the drawbridge. There are also
swim suits in the cabinet next to the guest bath.
"Tonight I'm going to view a film we have in final cut. We'll do that right
after dinner." He pointed out the bar, and told us to help ourselves to
whatever we wanted. "Also, tomorrow afternoon I have some people coming over
for a story conference, you will probably recognize most of them. Don't
worry, they'll like you."
We cooked thick steaks over an outside grill. Salad and baked potato seemed
to appear from nowhere; we ate in the back yard. There was also an outside
bar from which Vince produced a half gallon of his favorite, daiquiris.
Burt was happy as a clam. He was smiling from ear to ear. Except for my
original "come-on" to Vincent back in San Diego, I had left all of the
decisions of what to and what not to do to Burt. We were close, but we had
never talked about sex, or anything like that other than that one time when
we got drunk and jerked off. His decisions now made it easy for me to be open
with him in a guarded way.
Vince showed the film in the living room. He had a projection room hidden
behind one wall, and a screen dropped down from the ceiling on the opposite
wall. The film was "Cabin in the Sky", a black and white musical. Ethel
Waters was the star, her co-star was the guy that played the butler on Jack
Benny's radio show. Vince kept making notes as the film progressed. At the
end, he pointed out changes he wanted to make. To Burt and me, the film was
already perfect.
That night, for the first time in a long time I slept naked. The guest bed,
while small, was comfortable. As I laid there I began to imagine what was
going on in the other bedroom. My dick sprang to attention. Throwing back
the sheet. Up and down, squeezing the head, sliding it down the shaft. "Want
some help with that?"
"You and Burt all finished?"
He had a deep and soft laugh "Only for the moment. Twice was all he could
handle right now".
"Then be my guest." He sat on the edge of the bed fondling my penis. Bending
over he began to blow hot breath on my abdomen. He cupped, and then sucked
on my balls. My rod was next. He really knew what he was doing.
All too soon it was over. He kissed my stomach "Good night. See you in the
morning." And left.
I had noticed an acoustic guitar standing in the corner of the guest bedroom.
It looked expensive, but also looked like it was there as part of the decor.
Most of the next day was spent sunning ourselves along side of the moat, with
an occasional dip in it, and lazily strumming the guitar, working on the
melody of the ballad I had written for Hal.
Several times Vince brought out visitors with whom he chatted while sipping
daiquiris. Most we recognized from the movies, even though we couldn't remember
their names. Several of them looked our way more than once.
"Burt, I want you and Don to meet Thomas Sanchez." Vince introduced us to a
big, heavy man with a round face. I recognized him instantly as the bad guy
in several movies. His voice was deeper and more resonant than I remembered
from films. His eye latched on to Burt in utter fascination.
"What part of New Orleans are you from?" Burt glanced at me; I shook my head
that I hadn't told anyone where he was from.
"What makes you thing I'm from Nawlens?"
"The accent. Couldn't be anywhere else".
About 2 o'clock four other people arrived, and Vince said they were going to
talk in the dining room.
"Shit! Do you know who I think I just saw?" Burt exclaimed referring to the
new guests. "That was Clark Gable. Fuck, that was Clark Fucking Gable."
"Yeah, but Tom Sanchez has got the hots for you! Guess you know that don't
you."
"We've got it made. I can't believe it. Yesterday we were dog shit Marines.
Today we know movie stars. We get our dicks sucked as much as we want. We
are sunning ourself at the swimming pool of one of Hollywood's most famous
directors. Movie Stars are hot for our bods. God, I can't believe it. Fuck."
Most of the guests had left by 6:30. A rather plump English writer by the
name of Stella had stayed behind. Tom Sanchez returned about 7:00 announcing
that he was going to make us dinner.
Tom wandered off towards the kitchen, followed by Stella. We could hear them
banging pots and pans around. Stella was insisting they make spaghetti. Tom
was bellowing like a stuck pig. No way! Things quieted down a bit, then we
heard Tom singing an English music hall tune, accompanied by Stella. It had
a catchy beat to it which I tried to follow on the guitar.
Vince explained that Vaudeville was very much alive in England, and that the
English music Hall was a ribald version of our vaudeville, but leaning heavily
towards what we knew as burlesque.
I guess dinner must have been slowly cooking on the stove, as Tom and Stella
returned to the patio. I was still picking out the last song they had been
singing in the kitchen. Stella pointed out something that she thought was
wrong. That triggered another argument between them. First Stella would
demonstrate how she thought it should go. Then Tom gave his version. Mostly
it was a dispute over the lyrics, but that also affected the beat. Once I
got the hang of it, I found the music pretty easy to play. Before the evening
was over, the five of us were singing with gusto. Tom's voice easily projected
and drowned out Vince, Burt, and me, but Stella was able to match him decibel
for decibel.
That night it was "my turn in the duty sack," as Burt had put it.
Vince closed his bedroom door. "Feel like a swim?" I nodded, we stripped,
slipped out a back window/door and into the pool.
The water was pleasantly warm. "Follow me; I'll show you a place I'll bet
you kids missed." He swam away from me, following the inner wall of the moat.
He ducked under the water; I followed around a sharp turn, coming up in a
totally hidden room. The ceiling wasn't more than 5 feet. The cement floor
was an upward extension of the moat. The dim light coming from a small glass
fixture sunk into the wall at the far end of the alcove let me see a long
leather covered mattress. The only access to the room was under water from
the moat.
We pulled ourselves out of the water, laying on the leather, our bodies
wet, the light glistening from the drops of water.
I could see from the look in his eye, that he wanted to kiss me. Putting my
hand behind his neck, pulling him towards me as I moved towards him, lips
parted. The kiss was deep and passionate. "Vince, you are something else."
My response surprised him.
"Too bad you are in the Marines," was his.
We spent most of the night in the underwater alcove. Everything was very
mutual. And we did everything that I had ever done in my life, including the
yelling, the screams, the shouts. He fucked my ass with gentleness, yet with
dominance. He sucked my dick, lovingly, and yet with great technique. I got
him off twice, he got me off five times.
It was almost five in the morning when we left the alcove, and cuddled up in
his big bed. Just before he fell asleep, I made him promise that whatever we
did together remained our secret. He promised not to tell Burt. I insisted
that we keep the "Duty Rack" assignments as they were with Burt and me
switching.
Sunday was pretty much a duplicate of Saturday, with 2 exceptions. First,
Tom Sanchez showed up shortly after 8 carting Burt off to breakfast at the
Brown Derby restaurant. Second, we had to be back in San Diego so early on
Monday morning that it really meant we had to be back tonight.
Vince gave Burt and me $100 each for cab fare, called a cab, and sent us to
the train station, with the promise that we would come back as soon as we
could. He gave us his private phone number.
Instead of taking the train, we pocketed the $100.00 and hitch hiked back to
the base.
Burt couldn't keep quiet about the fun we had. He even talked about how great
of a cocksucker Vince was. On and on. I had to warn him to get that off his
chest now, cause we couldn't breathe a word about the week end to anyone at
the base.
Everybody seemed to be in good spirits as this had been our first weekend
pass. All you could hear was how good the San Diego pussy was. We knew that
it was mostly bullshit. When someone asked what we had done, Burt said "Went
to L.A. to visit relatives."
Next Saturday was graduation, and Mom and Earl were coming down to see it.
On Sunday we were to be transferred to Camp Pendleton, up by Oceanside. At
Pendleton, we would be processed, possibly assigned for further training, or
shipped overseas. When we got to Pendleton I learned that I would definitely
receive further training. The marines could not send anyone into a battle area
until after their 18th Birthday.
Monday we took aptitude tests, and it was then that Burt and I were separated.
He was assigned to heavy artillery training, while I went off to learn how
to read Morse Code and become a Radio Operator.
Friday night we had agreed to meet at the beer hall in Burt's area. From
there we would hitchhike to L.A. I called Vince and asked him if it was OK.
He said fine; we were to call him when we reached L.A. He would pick us up.
For the next 3 months Burt and I spent our weekends at Vince's. We met more
and more actors, directors, producers. Burt and I rotated sleeping with Vince.
Nonetheless, things changed; first Burt and several of Vince's friends went
out leaving Vince and me alone. Emotionally things changed; I could tell that
Vince was falling in love with me. Considering that I would probably be
transferred overseas by next October, I began to warn Vince that he shouldn't
get too attached. October was less than five months away.
One of Burt's new friends was a Meg a Star. His name was headlined on every
theater marquee in the country. Burt had received an invitation to join his
new friend on a weekend as guests of the owner of the Los Angeles Examiner.
This gave Vince and me the entire weekend. Friday night, after Burt had left,
he drew up the drawbridge and unplugged the phone. Next, we took a short swim
and laid naked on the polar bear rug in front of a wood fire.
He had a lot of question about where I came from and what I wanted to do with
my life. We talked about New York, John, Hal, even touched on Maurice and
Fat Fred. When I told him about how I got into the Marine Corps, about Lance,
about the guitar, he said, "You are lucky to have found a friend like that.
Sometime I'd like to meet him." We talked for hours, an occasional kiss, or
touch. He massaged my back and gently kissed my butt. My soul soaked up the
love, like a dry sponge.
Sunday afternoon Burt came back from San Simeon, excited beyond belief. He
had stayed in a real castle. A castle that had been brought over from England
stone by stone. Two swimming pools. An outside pool that looked like something
from a fairy tale. The inside pool was gigantic, and was tiled in 14 carat
gold leaf. The driveway must have been five miles long, with lions, tigers,
and even elephants running wild all over the place.
Rather unexpectedly, late on Sunday, Vince offered to drive us back to San
Diego. He said he had something he needed to talk to us about. We started
the drive after 9:00, and the drive would take us at least 3 hours. On the
way down, he told us that he had to go on location in Wyoming for 2 weeks.
He hadn't told us about it, in the hopes that he could delay it, or even
maybe somehow take us along.
The next week was something of a letdown. No moat to swim in. No soft beds,
movie stars, or pampering to be looked forward to.
Mother had written me several letters asking when I would come home for a
weekend. I had discussed it with Burt, deciding this would be an ideal
opportunity to make the visit.
Hitchhiking from San Diego to where we lived took quite a bit longer. In
fact, by the time we got dropped off in front of the house, it was well after
9:00 PM. I hadn't told her we were coming, but Burt was warmly welcomed.
My bedroom was in a separate, unattached building in the back yard. It had
its own sink and toilet. The bed was a very large one made by attaching 2
twin beds together. There was no other choice than Burt and I to sleep
together.
We talked about our early lives. Burt had been raised in a little town called
"Westwego", across the Mississippi from the New Orleans French Quarter. We
got on to the subject of young developing interests in sex. He told me about
his first blow job, at the age of 13. He had met some guy in the French
Quarter and had been paid $10.00. The money was good, getting his dick sucked
was better than jerking off, so he used to hang around the Quarter earning
as much as $50 a week. Later, he began to get interested in girls, but still
picked up some money hustling. Then he knocked up a neighborhood chick, and
that's when he enlisted in the Corps.
I told him about my early life, about the kids, Bob Schubert, and even what
I had done to him just before MCRD. Burt laughed at that, and said he wished
he'd been there.
The next afternoon, Earl and Burt were talking football and listening to a
game on the radio. I took a walk.
"Hey Don. I got $5.00, wanna take a hike!". It was Bob. I couldn't believe
that he hadn't got the message last time.
"So?". Then I got the message. Then I got an idea. "Haven't got time right
now, but I am going camping back in the hills tonight. If you'll make it
$20.00 we can do it all night."
When I got home I told Burt, and asked him if he was into "a Party" tonight.
He laughed, then seriously asked exactly what I intended to do.
It was just getting dark when Burt and I started back into the hills. And
unless Bob was watching pretty closely, he wouldn't know Burt was with me.
We set up camp: A tent and two sleeping bags. My sleeping bag was in the
tent. Burt's was out in the open; Burt was the bait.
The darkness was almost total. Bob came into the clearing, saw the sleeping
bag, unzipped it, stripped, put himself down between Burt's legs, and started
sucking his dick. Burt's cock got hard, suddenly Bob realized that wasn't my
dick. He stopped. "Hey kid keep at it; you're doing just fine," Burt grabbed
Bob's head pushing it back on his cock.
By then, I had come out of the tent with some crisco I'd brought along for
cooking. I put a big gob on Bobs Ass Hole, and shoved my dick all the way
in. Burt's dick was in his mouth so all I heard was a muffled grunt.
I had rammed him for a couple of minutes then pulled my dick all the way out.
It was covered with shit again. I rammed it back in, fucked him for a couple
more minutes, and then took a piss up his butt, giving him an enema. I pulled
out and told him to go take a shit.
While he was shitting out my load of piss I told Burt what I had done; he
thought it was funny. Burt went over and brought Bob back. And told him he
was going to enjoy that little butt.
So Burt and I switched positions, and Bob began sucking my dick. Burt and I
kept switching and holding back our orgasms. Bob, on the other hand, kept
coming and coming. We must have been at this for at least three hours. Bob's
asshole was so loose that I could hardly tell when I had my dick in it. We
both complained, and made him lick our ass holes.
Finally, at about four in the morning, we let him have both of our loads down
his throat.
He got dressed and started to leave. "Hey fucker, you forgot the $20.00.
Don't you think you got your money's worth?" He looked at us, realized he
couldn't get away if he didn't pay up, threw 4 $5.00 bills on Burt's sleeping
bag and left.
Burt looked at me. "Wild, fucking wild. But he deserved every inch of it".
Our MOS Schools were the same length, so both Burt and I were ready for
further assignment at the same time. Burt was sent to the Brooklyn Navy Yard
for further assignment; mine was to Hawaii.
The assignments came through very fast and unexpectedly. We telephoned Vince
that we were shipping out; that we couldn't even come to say good bye.
No one could say that the Marine Corps was a place of love. But it is a place
where strong attachments develop into bonds that are deeper than love.
In the past year and a half I had said good bye too many times, to too many
people, all of whom had changed my life. My departure from Burt was accompanied
by much pain of the heart. We were almost in tears when we said goodbye,
realizing we would probably never again see one another.
Burt's Train, north and east to New York left early Wednesday morning. Mine,
south to San Diego, left at 10 AM. I helped him carry his duffel bag to the
base train station. I asked him, if he had the time, to look up Lance, and
to tell him that I was doing OK.
At noon, I found myself standing in a warehouse at the U.S. Naval Base, San
Diego. Thousands of military were jammed into lines, waiting to be assigned
transportation to overseas bases. Every vessel heading across the Pacific
was being utilized to transport. By 1600 I found myself deep in the hold of
a troop transport surrounded by hundreds of soldiers, marines, sailors. We
were to get underway about midnight, the trip to Hawaii would take about
three days, maybe four depending on how much convoy zig zagging we did.
Our bunks were different than we had at MCRD. The actual bed was a large
metal pipe frame. Stretched across it was canvas. One side of the frame was
bolted to vertical pipes welded between the floor and the ceiling. The other
edge of the pipe frames were held by chains that went up at a 60 degree angle
attached to the same vertical pipes. The same vertical pipes held bunks on
it's other side, so that the arrangement was somewhat like the ones in our
barracks; that is, you had someone right next to you.
On each canvas covered frame was a thin mattress. Piled on the mattress was
a mattress bag (like a sheet), blanket, and a pillow.
Months had gone by since my guitar was in my arms. I began to pick at the
strings, trying to remember all of the words to those tunes I had learned
from Stella and Tom.
Two aisles over at the end were several soldiers, and one of them had a bass
fiddle. He began a beat with it. One of his friends with a clarinet picked
up the beat adding a melody. They motioned me to join them. All I could do
was chord. The melody was pretty predictable so getting the cords right wasn't
too hard. We jammed for hours; we jammed all the way to Hawaii.
The soldiers were a group who had been attached to "Special Services" to
entertain the troops.
That first night, as I crawled into my bunk, the guy next to me said: "Hey,
man. You are good. Is that what you did before you got drafted?" Flattery
is good for the soul; sleep was good.
During one of our meals, I overheard some guy telling his buddy about some
other guy who had a pack of dirty cards. They were betting the guy was queer,
and could be rolled.
That night I saw who they were talking about. He was an older guy with
glasses. Later, I made it a point of letting him start a conversation and
"pick me up". The offer was to go play some cards. He had found a little
closet where he could lock the door. We sat down, he dealt the cards. Each
card had a pornographic photo on it. Fucking, dick sucking, etc. etc. I
watched him as I examined my hand. He said something about how these pictures
always got him hard, asking if it did the same to me. I laid down the cards,
and said, no it takes the real thing to get me up. Then I added "Look, if
you want a suck my cock, just say so."
The guys eyes lit up. I pulled it out and let him have it. Then I warned
him about what I had overheard. He looked sad and thanked me for telling him.
Then I added that if he knocked off the cruising, I'd let him have my dick
any time he wanted it as long as no one else saw us.
So all the way to Hawaii I got off as much as I wanted, jammed with the group,
learned a lot of tricks with the guitar, and had a blast.
Long before sunrise, everyone was outside, peering out toward the horizon,
hoping to see their first glimpse of Hawaii. And as the sun rose, there about
two miles off of our starboard side was Diamond Head. The air was fresh,
cool, and clean. By comparison with the stuffy smell of hundreds of guys
below decks, this indeed appeared to be paradise.
Our transport didn't dock 'til after 8:00. We had passed Diamond Head, Waikiki
Beach, Honolulu Harbor, Hickham Air Base, and turned right into Pearl Harbor.
Everything appeared to be disorganized. Hundreds of troops being disgorged
from the bowels of our ship merged with hundreds of other troops from other
ships. Over the loud speaker we were being told that Marines should congregate
one place, Navy another, and Army still another.
Elbowing my way through the crowd was like breaking through a football
scrimmage line. Lugging my duffel bag and my guitar I tried to flow in the
general direction I saw other Marines.
Eventually I boarded a bus that was to transport me to the other side of the
Island.
In Hawaii I found that I was being assigned as a Radio Operator with an
Infantry Company being sent to a little island out in the middle of the
Pacific called Saipan. The Company was to undergo some additional training,
further "Special Orientation" and finally transported by ship to Saipan.
Saipan was occupied by Japan; we were going to change that.
Suddenly, all that war stuff we had been hearing in California, stories that
were far, far from us here and now, came rushing into being very real, and
very immediate.
We would be in training in Hawaii for three weeks, during that time we had
weekend passes, and if everything went well we would have the fourth week
completely at liberty. At the beginning of the fifth week we would board our
transportation for Saipan.
Tents had been set up for our group to occupy; six cots to the tent. Showers
were in the building at the end of the compound. Due to the number of troops,
shower time was allocated, and the schedule must be followed. Lights out at
22:00. Reveille was 0530, chow 0600.
The next week was spent getting familiar with our equipment. My radio gear
was unlike anything I had yet seen, so I spent hours reading the manuals,
and trying to find someone else who might have see this kind of gear.
We also marched in formation, making certain that as a company, we maneuvered
like a company.
Friday night I took the liberty bus to Waikiki. There were several military
R & R centers. Ft. DeRusey was right on the beach. There were barracks and
even some semi-private rooms in which you could rent a bunk by the night.
The Royal Hawaiian Hotel was also a Military R & R facility, but mostly
reserved for submariners or high ranking officers.
The only people on the streets who were not in uniform were locals, either
women, Hawaiians, or Orientals, and everybody was out there to make a buck.
Flower stands, photo booths with pretty Hawaiian models, bars with guitar
strumming musicians, even pimps lining up customers.
I decided to check out Waikiki before renting a bunk for the night, and walked
down Kalakaua Avenue towards Diamond Head. I sat on a bench looking out at
Waikiki Beach, and was almost immediately cruised by some guy who offered me
$5.00 to suck my dick. I said "Thanks, but no thanks.", got up and returned
to Ft. DeRusey, went into the Enlisted Beer Hall, and ordered a brew from
the bar. All of the tables were occupied, so I sat my butt down in a chair
at an occupied table. One of the other guys at my table was also a Marine.
He had been stationed at Pearl Harbor for nearly four months, and knew his
way around, or so he bragged. I bit and bought him a brew. Then I bought
him another.
"Hey! I got a friend who has an apartment. Why don't we stop and buy a bottle
and go up there. It'll save you some dough." I should have picked up on the
"it'll save me some dough", but I didn't.
The apartment was on a back street but still in Waikiki. The friend was a
tall woman, about 30, long red hair, dark eyes, and dressed in a form fitting
"high style" evening dress. She winked at my buddy, gave me a big smile, and
said "Hey honey, you are one handsome number. Bring that little butt of yours
in here and let's see what you've got in there." I blinked, she laughed, "in
the bottle silly."
The booze you could get in Hawaii was mostly alcohol and water. They didn't
even bother to add any kind of flavor. However our hostess seemed to have an
inexhaustible supply of pineapple juice and ice.
"Darryl, honey, be a dear and run down to the corner and get some Grenadine
for our drinks".
The other Marine picked up his hat, "OK", and left.
"Let's have another," and she poured another. It seemed a bit stronger. She
sat down along side of me, put her hands on my leg, making interesting animal
sounds, rubbing my leg upward 'til she was touching my cock. "Ummm, that
feels like it's worth looking at. Can I?"
The drinks were making me pretty mellow. "Sure. You want to do the honors or
shall I?"
Unbuckling my belt, she opened my fly, and began massaging my rod.
She pulled her hand out, moist with my pre-cum, smelled it, licked it, "Ohhhh
that's gorgeous. My, my it's getting hot in here. Let me help you take some
of those things off". She proceeded to remove my tie, then my shirt, my
tee-shirt, and my pants.
The only thing I had on was my shoes, socks, and undershorts. My cock was
protruding erectly through the fly of my boxers.
While I'm standing there in my shorts, with her holding my cock, the door
opens and it's the other Marine returning. Before I could react, he said,
"Well, see you guys are already having some fun." He mixed himself a drink
and sat down watching her fondle my cock.
Her tongue was licking away my pre-cum. "Darryl, honey, do me a favor, help
him out of his shoes and socks." She began to lower my boxers while Darryl
did as he was told. First the shoes, then the socks.
At that point, Darryl's head was at eye level with her mouth as she put her
lips around my knob, and not more than a foot away. I looked down, and I
could see he was watching, very attentively, what she was doing with my rod.
As she drew me in deeper and deeper I saw Darryl's tongue flicking around
her ear. Next, I felt his hand on my butt, as he began setting the rhythm of
my getting my cock sucked. Now, he's licking around her nose, then around
her mouth, getting closer and closer to my cock. His hand slides off of my
butt, moving between my legs, cupping her chin. I can feel his hand around
her lips, rubbing her lips and my cock. The action is slow and delightful.
Lots of tongue action. Darryl, with his hand back on her chin, is drawing
her closer onto me, at the same time I can feel his hot breath on my
backside.
This is all pretty strange, but intriguing. Suddenly it hit me what was going
on. Darryl had inadvertently let the cat out of the bag when he came back
with the Grenadine:
"Well, see you guys are already having some fun."
I started to laugh, in fact I couldn't stop laughing. "OK, OK, I know what's
going on. Both of you guys get naked and let's have a real orgy."
We partied all night, there was more cum all over that apartment than there
was dust. Darryl really was a Marine, but the woman was "Doug", and owned a
local radio station. He and Darryl were lovers, and they worked this gimmick
almost every weekend.
Doug was pretty effeminate, so the drag was very effective. He made breakfast
for Darryl and me. I enjoyed being with them, despite the trickery, and
decided to visit as often as I would be welcome.
Saturday morning I tried to get a bunk at Ft. DeRusey, but by then they were
all occupied. I went back to Doug's and asked if I could spend the night with
them. At first they were hesitant, but when I suggested I help Darryl pick
up another trick, they agreed. In fact, they got downright excited about a
possible foursome.
Saturday afternoon we picked up a cute little sailor from Oklahoma. He had
short red hair, green eyes. Not much over 5 foot tall. He looked like he was
about 15 or 16. Beautiful, almost translucent skin. I had spotted him first,
sitting on a bench over looking DeRusey Beach. Dressed in his white uniform,
cocked back white hat, he looked like an advertisement for the Sea Scouts.
He also looked very lonely.
He was sitting in the middle of the bench, so Darryl and I sat on either side
of him. I started the conversation. He was just 17, and assigned to a
transportation office at the Naval Air Station. Even though it was fairly
early in the day, I asked him if he would like a beer or something. He nodded
yes and said he'd like a root beer.
When Darryl got back with the drinks, he had three cokes. They didn't have
any root beer. He handed us each a bottle; he had an odd twinkle in his eye.
I sipped mine and realized that he had spiked the cokes. The kid kind of
wrinkled his nose, said it tasted a little funny, but drank it all anyway.
So Darryl went off for more "Cokes". We talked about a lot of things while
Darryl was gone; I was absolutely positive that the only thing that had ever
been on his cock was his own hand. I talked about this girlfriend of
"Darryl's", and by the time he had returned with the spiked cokes, the kid
had a noticeable boner.
Saturday night was a wonder in production. Doug played her role to the hilt.
We followed Friday's scenario with Darryl and I both going to the store for
the Grenadine. The scene with the kid had progressed exactly to the same
point as with me when we opened the front door. He was standing there in his
white boxer shorts, no trousers, no jumper, no tee-shirt, his hard dick in
her hand.
When he saw us, he just gave us a grin and turned beet red. Darryl removed
one shoe and sock, I removed the other. Darryl licked one of "her" ears, I
licked the other. As her lips approached his hot, throbbing rod, it exploded.
Her lips were at least an inch away when he started shooting cum all over
her face; he turned away from her and got me right in the eye. Darryl started
laughing, then I started laughing. The kid didn't think it was funny and
neither did Miss Doug.
I pulled my dick out of my pants, rubbed some of the kids come on it and let
Doug suck it off. Darryl and the kid were watching this action. Soon Darryl
was standing there naked, dick in the ready, and let her work with both of
ours. The kid was mesmerized and started to get hard again.
Soon the kid was fucking the hell out of Doug's mouth. Darryl and I started
playing with his butt. At first it annoyed him, but he must have figured it
was worth the price to have his dick sucked. Soon it ceased to be an annoyance,
and then he began to like it.
By the time the kid went back to the base he had lost his virginity to an
older woman, had his dick sucked four times, had his ass licked, and been
finger fucked during three of the four times. He never did discover that the
older woman was a man, or that one of the four times I had sucked him off
or that Darryl had gotten a bit of it, too.
------------------------------------------------------------
My Teenage Heart
Chapter Five
Tales from the Pacific War Zone
The weekend just before my company left for Saipan was spent with Doug and
Darryl.
Late Saturday night there was a knock at Miss Doug's door. It was the kid
from the Naval Air Station. The most unexpected part of it was that he was
drunk, and he had a hard-on that was the father of ALL hard-ons.
"I don't have any place to sleep tonight. Can I sleep here?"
Miss Doug answered "Of course you can, honey. But you'll have to sleep with
the three of us; we only have one bed. But it is big enough."
"Will I have as much fun as I did last time?" Spoken with a sheepish grin.
Darryl injected, "More, if I have anything to do with it."
The kid gave him the same grin, looked at me and said, "You, too?"
We took turns taking the kids clothes off. His hot little rod was stuck
straight out from the most beautiful, fine, reddish blonde pubic hair that
I have ever set eyes on. "Can we go to bed now? Naw... wait, ya got something
to drink?"
Miss Doug went off to get the kid a glass of pineapple juice, while Darryl
and I patted his butt, and squeezed his dick. He just stood there, naked, in
kind of an erotic daze with this silly grin on his face.
Altogether, he came off six times that night. And he was fully aware of which
of us was doing what to whom. At one memorable point, the kid was in a 69
position with me, while I was sucking his dick. For a moment I thought he
was going to take mine into his mouth, but just as I thought he was going to
he dropped his load down my throat.
I still don't think the kid knew that Miss Doug was a man.
Early Monday morning, our company lined up in formation, loaded on a bus,
and transported to Pearl Harbor where we boarded a huge landing craft. The
bow laid open like a giant tongue, ready to lap up our equipment and supplies.
We had hardly stowed our gear on board when the bow was raised and locked
into position and our ship got underway, joining a convoy forming north of
Oahu.
No lights were allowed on deck after sunset. I stood there on the conn deck,
watching the sun drop below the horizon, watching the world disappear as if
even the moon and stars had followed orders putting themselves out of man's
sight. Other than the roar of our engines, there was little sound. An
occasional command to correct compass heading added to a disquieting feeling.
Every member of our company had been assigned lookout watches around the
clock, trying to add that extra step of warning should we be intercepted by
Jap submarines.
My watch was from midnight to 0400. I was instructed not to take my eyes off
of a particular section of water. Each lookout was equipped with large
earphones and a microphone. They required no power as the energy came from
the spoken words.
I reported sparkling flashes of light seen along the waters edge as the ship
jumped and splashed through the ocean. I was told to ignore it as it was sea
algae. Nevertheless, my fertile imagination generated images of lights from
Wellsian-like Japanese Submarines.
Just a little before 4 AM, I was relieved by a drowsy member of my own company.
His eyes were hardly open as I passed on my instructions, handed over the
sound powered phones, and took my leave.
The craft lurched away from my footings, but finally I discovered that walking
with bended knees made the decks more navigable.
Radio reports kept us informed on the progress of the battle we were to join.
Already the Marines had made a beachhead on Saipan. The Japanese were providing
reenforcements from neighboring Tinian. Casualties were heavy on both sides.
The zig zagging of the Convoy greatly slowed our pace, and it wasn't 'til
daybreak of our third day at sea that Saipan came into view. But, even before
we could separate the island from the clouds that covered it, we could see
dead bodies floating in the water, bumping our hull. The ship's captain sent
out a small boat to check out the corpses, returning with the report they
appeared to be Japanese pilots. Their skin looked like water soaked bread,
probably been in the water two or three days.
We stood about two miles off of the beach waiting for orders from the area
commander. We were instructed to change our course and sail to the western
side of the island, our course to be down the slot between Saipan and its
heavily occupied neighbor. The sounds of shells whirling across the channel
as we passed under them caused the adrenalin to pump heavily through our
systems. Yet we felt no sense of danger, just excitement and adventure.
We stood off of the western beach for two days, Saipan had been secured
without our troops leaving the landing craft. Soon, all Japanese forces had
departed the area.
Our orders were changed and we withdrew to Enewetok in the Marshals. Enewetok
while a small atoll was a huge forward staging area. Thousands of troops were
quartered there. All drinking water was manufactured. Hundreds of ships were
anchored around it. The army had even set up a radio broadcast station.
Several of our walky-talkies had stopped working, so our Lieutenant and I
went to the island. It was rumored that Bob Hope's USO troop was to visit
the next days The Lieutenant was thinking out loud that it would be great if
our company could get ashore.
We were walking towards the Naval Communication Station when someone passed
us in a jeep. Came to a screeching halt, yelled my name, and asked if we
wanted a lift. At first I didn't recognize who it was, then I realized it
was one of the guys I'd met at Vince's, Jack Wormski. He was now a captain
in the army, and was officer in charge of the Armed Forces Radio Station
WXLE.
The Lieutenant said nothing as Jack and I carried on like a couple of long
lost buddies. I asked him about the Bob Hope rumor, he said it wasn't a
rumor, it was for sure, day after tomorrow. Voicing the Lieutenant's thoughts,
I asked if there was any likelihood our company could see the show. Jack
said he doubted it, as there were already too many personnel who were quartered
on the island and they had first call on seats and standing room. Then he
added that WXLE was going to carry the show.
The Naval Communication Station took our radios, said they'd check 'em out
and that we should come back later that day. The Lieutenant and I then found
the mess hall and had lunch. All of a sudden, I spotted the bass fiddle player
that I had jammed with on the troop transport. He waved and then pointed
me out to his buddy, the clarinet player.
They came over and sat with us. They were there as additional entertainment
for the Hope show. It was their job to provide warmup music before the Hope
band took over. The Lieutenant commented on the fact that we were going to
miss the show. The two guys looked at each other "How you doin' on the guitar;
want to jam with us during the show? If you do, I'll bet we can find a way
to get your company in there".
When everyone in our company heard that I had been asked to play my guitar
during the Bob Hope show, and because of it the whole company was going to
get to attend, I became the most popular PFC in the Corps, or at least in
our company. The extra bit of gossip going around was the head of the radio
station was a close buddy of mine; everyone wondered what I was doing in the
Corps instead of holding down a cushy job in entertainment.
I kept my mouth shut, even though it had a grin that said, "If you only knew
the truth, the whole fucking truth."
There is a saying in New York, that if you stand on the corner of 42nd and
Broadway, you will eventually see everyone you have ever known. I began to
think that that also applied to Enewetok.
I had taken an earlier boat to the island to meet up with the bass fiddle
player. We were going to have a little warmup just to make sure everything
went smoothly.
We were set up on an open air stage jamming away, doing mostly country music.
Again, I was mostly faking it with cords, but the guys kept giving me pointers
on how to finger, and make it look and sound more spectacular than it really
was.
Jack and his technician arrived to set up mics and a line amplifier to feed
the show to WXLE.
We were really getting into the mood.
The other musicians took a break, and I began to sing one of those English
music hall songs. In the intervening weeks, I had even gotten the accent down
pat.
Jack looked around, realized where I had learned them, and went over to the
bass fiddle player and chatted for a few minutes.
The seats began to fill up with guys even though it was almost an hour before
the Hope show was to start. In fact, Hope wasn't yet even on the island.
Our group started to tune up, in preparation for our part of the show. "Don,
the radio station is going to carry this beginning in 15 minutes, mostly to
check out everything before Hope comes on stage. They want you to do one of
those things you were doing a little while ago, just before Hope comes on
stage. You know, that English ditty."
We picked up on the country music just about where we had left off at the
break. The audience reaction seemed to be good as some of them began to sing
with us. The more the response we got from the guys out front, the better we
got; it snowballed.
The audience became as much a part of our playing as we were. The pace picked
up, resulting in our going through everything we knew. So they whispered,
guess you'd better do one of your English things.
Even though I had been singing with the other guys, the idea of a solo scared
the shit out of me. I started off hesitantly, with my mind going back to
that night with Tom Sanchez and Stella. In trying to imitate Tom's performance,
I began to take on some of his spirit. And you can't do an English music hall
song from the background, you have to project it. Jack Wormski had circled
around the back of the stage, joining the other guys, harmonizing with them,
kind of prompting them on the lyrics, giving me both backup and moral support.
It brought the house down. If there is anything in this world that is
addictive, it is having an audience in the palm of your hand. I looked over
at Jack, and he prompted me to do another. I was mesmerized by the audience,
and segued to the next.
I was in my third number when I felt an arm on my shoulder. "Let's hear it
for the little guy. Wonder what a Limie is doing over here." It was Bob Hope
suggesting that I get off of "HIS" stage and let the show begin.
That one event had as much effect on my future life as almost anything I have
ever done. I had gotten hooked on performing for an audience.
As a funny sidelight, as I left the stage, I saw that little asshole sailor
from Chicago applauding like mad. Weighing some 30 pounds more, and it all
being muscle, I doubt if he had the slightest I idea he was applauding for
that "Hillbilly Faggot" he'd met on the train.
Stardom is short lived. Three days later we were underway for Okinawa. We
had driven the Japanese off of that Island. It looked like we would probably
start invading the Japanese mainland within the month. Casualties were expected
to be high. We knew the Japs would fight to the last man protecting their
emperor.
It seemed like several weeks had passed since we left Enewetok, arriving
along the Eastern Coast of Okinawa; looking back, it probably was a lot
longer.
We debarked from the landing craft that was our home for so long.
Our company set up camp near Karama Rheto right on the coast. It was a typical
fishing village. Anything and everything could be purchased if paid in American
cigarettes, sugar, or coffee. Local currency was without value. You could
buy a beautiful silk kimono for two pounds of sugar. For a carton of
cigarettes, you could have the prettiest girl in town.
After duty hours, we would explore the village. It was strange seeing a huge
cemetery with hundreds of white crosses where our military had been buried
in the wake of our invasion. We were warned not to explore beyond the road
as the area was heavily mined.
My services as a radio operator were not needed, so I was assigned to the
motor pool as a truck driver, hauling loads of sand for construction.
Okinawa was very hot; uniform requirements were lax, almost nil. I had reduced
what I wore to a pair of shorts I had made by cutting off a pair of fatigues
that were too small. I wore no shirt and had tanned to a golden brown. It
was too hot for undershorts. So, total uniform consisted of heavy boots and
socks and cutoff pants. My hair, which was kind of a light blondish brown,
had sun-bleached several shades lighter.
The route that I always took was from an excavation site, about three miles
from camp, down a long dirt road to a building site some 15 miles away.
Between the two points were many other abandoned excavation sites.
I would drive my truck into the loading area. Heavy motorized shovels would
load the truck. I would drive to the unloading area, pull a lever that made
the back of the truck tilt, and the load would thus be transferred. The
routine was usually four round trips a day.
I saw a hitchhiker on one of my mid afternoon return trips; I am not sure
what branch of the military he was in, probably Navy, as he was wearing blue
dungaree pants with a blue shirt tied around his neck. At first I didn't
look closely at him, but I did stop and give him a ride.
One look at him after he had pulled himself up and into the cab told me that
he liked what he saw.
I hadn't gotten off in at least a month, so I was interested. But, I also
had developed kind of a sense of humor and decided to play games with the
kid.
He must have been somewhere in his late teens or early twenties. The pants
were too baggy to tell what his butt looked like. However, his shirtless
chest was well developed, and he had a really nice smile.
The truck made too much noise to carry on a conversation, so my game had to
be played without speaking.
My dick was alongside of my left leg (where I usually carry it); without a
lot of conscious effort, it began to grow. The cutoffs were at least two
sizes to small, so the only place for my rod to grow was downward, slowly
extending beyond the bottom of the legs.
Being on the left side, it was well within view of my passenger. He moved
closer to me, reached over and squeezed the head several times and was rewarded
with quite a bit of pre-cum, most of which dripped down the side of my leg.
Bending down, he squeezed his head between my stomach and the steering wheel,
licking my glans, scooping up some of the spilled and flowing pre-cum.
The trucks did not have any doors. Anyone passing could see the guy playing
with my cock, so as we approached an old road going to one of the abandoned
excavation sites, I turned, parking behind a mound of earth.
Sliding over to where he had been siting I motioned him out of the truck,
and laid down on my back. Standing on the road, he tugged my cut-offs down
and off. First he kissed my abdomen, licked around my balls, and finally
took my cock in his mouth, using his hand, mouth, and tongue in kind of a
combo blow and hand job, he got me off in seconds.
I then put my shorts back on, got him back in the truck, started the engine,
re-entered the road, and was back en route with less than five minutes spent
getting a damn nice blow job.
Kamikaze suicide plane attacks were always underway. The navy would tow
otherwise unsalvageable ships out to sea, leave a tiny light burning on its
bridge to attract these pilots, drawing them like flies into a trap.
Two or three times each night we would hear the general quarters alarms go
off on board the many ships anchored just off shore.
The war in the Pacific came to an end during the last quarter of 1945. My
20th birthday had past, I had been a United States Marine for three years.
Troops were being returned from the Pacific in a somewhat
disorganized/organized way. There was a so called point system based on
whether you had a wife and kids, how long you had been in the service, how
dangerous the war zone was that you had been in, and how long you had served
there. Being at Saipan and then at Okinawa had given me more points than I
deserved, and thus I found myself being separated from the Marines in February
of 1946.
I have never been known for planning ahead. I had no idea what I would now
do with my life. My Marine training would be of little use. I had vague ideas
of joining back up with Vince, concentrating on my guitar, maybe going into
show biz. But really, I had no concrete plans.
***DISCLAIMER****
My Teenage Heart is a work of FICTION. Celebrities like Don Ho, Sammy
Kapu, Aunty Clara, Hilo Hattie are names like The Grand Canyon, or Maui,
or any other public edifice, and are used in that same context. To be
more specific: Don Ho, Don Ho Enterprises, or any other celebrities name
used in this work, is used for purposes of flavor. They were not, in reality,
part of this story.